


Falling Backwards

by jnic84



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Buffy AU, F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-11-05
Updated: 2015-11-05
Packaged: 2018-04-30 05:11:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 14
Words: 136,947
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5151509
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jnic84/pseuds/jnic84
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Set after season 7, Xander and Willow try to go back to a simpler time, before the First arose.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapters 1-3

Chapter One: When it’s all said and done

 

“Xander?” she asked, his name coming out as only a whisper. When he didn’t respond Willow sat gently next to him on his bed. She held his hand, her fingers nervously playing with his. Her normally expressive Xander, the ever jubilant man she had grown up with all her life, was reduced to this shell, lying in a crummy hotel bed, looking broken.

Xander refused to acknowledge his best friend; in fact he hadn’t spoken to anyone in days. Anya was dead, so was Spike, and Sunnydale, their home, was nothing more than a crater in the earth. He had to admit in the end he was proud of Spike, the former ‘Big Bad’ saved the world. And he didn’t do it for himself, or even Buffy, but because he was a true champion.

But what was killing him was the loss of Anya. She had spent over 1100 years as a vengeance demon, then became human. They fell in love, then he walked out on their wedding, the dumbest thing he ever did, but he never stopped loving her. Then she was a demon again, but she worked hard to regain the humanity she lost. They finally were beginning to become comfortable together again. They had another chance. Then she died. And it hurt.

Willow sighed. Buffy, Faith, Dawn, and the other slayers were all out and about. It was the middle of the day, a Thursday, nothing special. They were currently in L.A. awaiting instructions from Giles as to where they were needed. She had contemplated joining the girls in their shopping excursions but she just couldn’t leave her friend. She again was responsible for everyone’s well being. Just like when Buffy died. She was beginning to loathe that position. And Xander, the one man that could always make her smile, lay there in a heap of pain and sorrow. And she had no clue what to do for him.

They had lost so much these past few years, ever since Buffy came to town. Jesse, Jenny, Tara, and now Anya and Spike. Spike, the thought of him made her heart ache. He had loved the slayer with all he had, and in return, she used him to make her feel. It was disgusting how she berated him, hurt him, and he couldn’t help but ask for more. He even went to Africa and got a soul for her! And she still treated him as if he was lower than she. Sure, they became a team, but that was born out of necessity. She didn’t hate him anymore, but she never loved him. It was always Angel, and it always would be. And now he was gone, not even dust. And she missed him, more than she thought she would. But he was so unforgettable, that smirk, his accent, the annoying ability he had to tell you the absolute truth, even if you didn’t want to hear it. He may have been a demon, but there was more man in him, even before the soul, than he would like to admit.

“Sometimes,” Xander said, his voice hoarse from disuse, “I wish things could go back, to before we knew about demons and slayers. You know?” At her sad nod, he continued. “Like when it was just you, me, and Jesse. We were happy, kind of naïve, but definitely happy.”

“I know Xan, I think about that too. I always wondered if Buffy never came to Sunnydale, if we never learned about vampires and demons, if things would have turned out differently. And I don’t mean hell dimension different, like Cordy wished, but…normal. Quiet, may be a little easier.”

“You could do it, you know,” he replied as he began to sit up. She didn’t like the look in those unusually dull brown eyes. He was getting an idea, and she was willing to bet it was a really *bad* idea. “You have that kind of power, and you wouldn’t become veiny Willow. You could make it like it was-” 

“You don’t know what you’re asking for Xan. That wouldn’t be some small, little spell. That’s big, as in changing time as we know it, big,” she argued desperately. She knew he was hurting and looking for an easy way out. But there was nothing easy about his suggestion; she just had to make him understand.

He laughed bitterly, “And that would be bad? You said it yourself, Wills, after everything that’s happened, all that we’ve lost, wouldn’t you love to go back, knowing what you know. May be we could finally be happy. I’m so tired Will, I’m not even thirty and I feel like I’ve lived forever. And not in the good way. I have nothing left, except you. Even Buffy is different, she’ll never be the girl we knew again. And I know you’re hurting, I know you better than you know yourself. Why not give yourself the chance to be happy?”

“It’s a nice idea Xan, I understand why you would think everything would be great. But even if I were to manage to send us back in time, we would still have all the memories. The pain won’t disappear, that’s not how it works.”

“I don’t care. I get that the pain isn’t going anywhere. But give us the chance to start over, please.” She started to refuse again, but he stopped her. “Just think about it Wills. Promise me that.”

“Ok.” She left him alone once more and walked to the sitting room. Their hotel room wasn’t that big, but it was large enough for the two of them. She needed time alone, to process everything Xander said. Part of her screamed at her, she couldn’t mess with time like that. It was against the laws of nature. But on the other hand, she knew how far someone in that much pain was willing to go to end it. But she wasn’t even sure it would change anything. Sending them back, to when Sunnydale was just another one horse town and vampires were only the stuff of vivid nightmares, would it turn out any differently? After all, she wasn’t about to create some hell dimension like Anya did, it wasn’t anything as complex. Xander just wanted to return home, back to the time when he, she, and Jesse were together and their evenings did not consist of dangerous patrols of cemeteries. But Buffy would still come to Sunnydale, they couldn’t change that. So what would happen then? Would they just ignore her, never befriend the blonde that changed their lives so drastically? She wasn’t sure what would become of the two of them if she did what he pleaded of her, but right now, she was willing to risk utter chaos, just to make her Xander smile like he used to. 

But what if he was right? What if, somehow, they could change their lives for the better? It was such a tempting idea. But there were so many things that could go wrong. The question was, was she willing to risk everything for a chance at something better? She got up and left on a mission. She had some magic supplies to buy. She and Xander were going back to high school.

 

They sat facing each other, inside a protection circle. Willow had painted a symbol on the ground between them, the symbol of infinity, of time itself. They had left the hotel after the sun had set and set up ‘camp’ in a small patch of woods off a local park. They wouldn’t be interrupted there. Looking to the brunette, Willow saw no signs of hesitancy; he really wanted to go through with this. Sighing gravely, she prepared to do probably one of the most foolish things in her life. Oh, only if Giles could see her now, she could practically hear the lecture the Englishman would give her. She burned sage as she handed Xander a piece of paper. She dropped various herbs into a bowl. She signaled him to begin his part of the chant as she set the ingredients on fire.

“Against the laws of time and space,  
Grant us leave of this place.  
Backward in time, change our fate,  
Goddess bring us to this date.”

She threw a feather into the bowl and began her plea.

“Away from here we ask to go,  
Free us from the pain we know.  
We wish to be with loved ones passed,  
Take us into the distant past.  
Goddess grant us peace at last.”

She took one last moment to think of everyone who was gone., she grasped Xander’s hands and finished. 

“So mote it be.” And in a fantastic burst of light, they disappeared.

 

Chapter Two:

 

Willow was reluctant to open her eyes, not sure what to expect. The spell had worked, that much she could tell. She was quite nauseous at the moment, and apparently time travel makes one dizzy.

“Wills?” asked a concerned voice next to her. She blinked and focused on the person speaking.

“Xan?” she prayed that he was alright. “You okay?” He took a look at their surroundings. They were in a small bedroom, a twin bed in the center. Kitty posters hung on the wall, a computer sat on a desk in the corner, light shone through the French doors.

“I’m great! We did it, Wills!” she smiled at his relief. They were in her room, in Sunnydale, a town that by all circumstances shouldn’t exist anymore.

“We really did it…” she whispered, amazed that she actually pulled it off. She pulled herself up off the floor and walked to a standing mirror by her door.

“Holy crap!” she muttered. She took in her appearance, gone were the long, vibrant strands of red hair, in their place was a slightly duller auburn mane. Her clothes left something to be desired, navy blue overalls and a red and yellow striped shirt underneath. That was it, before she went back to high school, she was *definitely* going shopping.

“Gee, Wills. You’re a blast from the past,” exclaimed the brunette.

“You might wanna take a look at yourself too, Xan.” He moved to join her at the mirror. He had lost some of his bulk, a little more lanky than before. Willow was just happy to see that pain vanish from his eyes, even just for a moment.

“Woah,” he breathed, studying his form with a careful eye. He had almost forgotten what it felt like to be fifteen. This was going to take some adjusting. Shaking his head, he stepped away from Willow and moved to her desk, where a calendar was propped up in the corner. Words were written in bright red letters on the coming day, ‘First Day of School’. Will was always fanatical about school, he thought with a smile. Tomorrow was the first day of sophomore year, the day they met Buffy, soon they would be losing Jesse, well, not if he had anything say about it. Things were going to be different this time around. 

He vaguely remembered someone, maybe Spike, commiserating about the fact that this slayer had friends; that it wasn’t in the brochure. Spike had a point, he now realized. This life, the sacrifice, the death, he wasn’t made for it. He never asked for any of it, only did what he felt was right. And what did that get him? His former fiancée, the love of his life, was buried in the rumble of Sunnydale. Spike, a demon he reluctantly grew to respect, had burned to death to save the world, and that was just his personal pain. Willow had seen and done far worse than he, and she had once been the most innocent of creatures. Her loves had either cheated on her or left, or had been taken from her with brute force. That life, the magic, it overwhelmed her and she became, if only for a day or two, the enemy. He never wanted to be in that position again, he didn’t want her in that position again. 

Willow saw Xander staring off into space and smiled sadly. She knew he was remembering, he had that far away look in his eyes. She was still so unsure if she should have done this, should have brought them back here, but she had her reasons, one more important than the other. There was a time, still so fresh in her memory, when she stood, angry and deadly in grief and despair, ready to end the world, and he saved them all, saved her. He did only the thing he could. He didn’t fight her, like Buffy, or try a spell, like Giles, he just stood there, looking so concerned and frightened, and told her he loved her. She needed a reason to go on, proof that she was needed and cared for, and even after all her destruction he still stood there and told her he loved her. He saved her from drowning in her pain, now it was her chance to return the favor. She just hoped she wouldn’t regret this. 

Xander turned around slowly, taking in the childhood bedroom of his best friend. The same as he remembered it. His brown eyes fell on the redhead, frowning when he saw the doubt and worry on her face.

“Hey,” he said softly, crossing the room to stand in front of her, placing his hands on her shoulders, squeezing them comfortingly. “We’re gonna be okay, you and me.”

“I hope your right, Xan,” she replied with a shaky smile. “I just can’t get over the feeling that I’ve done something really stupid.”

“You’re Willow, you don’t do stupid,” he assured her with a grin. She raised an eyebrow and looked at him like he had lost his mind. “Okay, so I forgot about your…um, dark period,” he added sheepishly. “But still, you’re my Wills; nothing stupid about you. We can do this, Willow. I swear we can. We will be happy, we’ll have Jesse, everything will be perfect. Think about it Wills. No Angelus, no Master. Darla, Drusilla, the Judge, they won’t be in our lives anymore.”

She knew he was trying to cheer her up, but it wasn’t really working that well. No Angelus also meant no Angel and while she and the souled vampire weren’t the best of friends, he still meant a lot to her. No Drusilla meant no Spike and while, in these early years the bleach blonde only wanted them dead, she still would miss him. He always kept them on their toes. There would be no late night research parties with Giles, no sitting in Buffy’s bedroom watching Indian musicals, no time spent with Jenny looking up spells Giles didn’t want her learning; God, she wished she had thought this through more. It hadn’t hit Xander yet, that was understandable. He had been so devastated that the chance of starting anew looked perfect to him. He just couldn’t see everything that they would no longer have. 

“I don’t know what I want to do first,” he started with an eager grin. “Maybe call up Jesse. Will, we can actually call up Jesse!” he exclaimed, his smile infectious. 

“All I know is that I am definitely hitting the mall,” she grimaced with a glance at her mismatched clothing. “This is a part of my past I’d like to forget.”

“Don’t say that,” he told her with a teasing pout. “Your…unique fashion choices were part of your Willowy charm.”

“And yet you seemed to be the only one who appreciated it,” she remarked dryly.

“Okay, okay, we’ll take you shopping,” he decided, “then we’ll go to Jesse’s house. That sound good?” 

“Yeah,” she replied softly, a reminiscent smile on her face. The prospect of seeing Jesse one more time was the only thing that had the ability to erase her negative thoughts. “But Xan,” she stopped the boy as he went to leave her bedroom. “Tomorrow is…Buffy comes to Sunnydale High tomorrow. What are we going to do?”

“What we always should have done,” he answered, the earlier giddiness absent from his voice, now hard and resigned. “Ignore her.”

“Can you?” she wondered. “She was our friend. Can you just ignore her, knowing what’s going to happen to her?”

“She’s the Chosen One Wills. This, the hellmouth, vampires and demons, they are all her problems, not mine or yours anymore. Let her do what she was born to do and just stay out of it. You know where that path leads.”

“But Xan--” she started, taking a step toward him, biting her lip when his expression closed off and he took another step toward the hall.

“No,” he interrupted her, “we’re not a part of this anymore. We came back to start over, to live a normal life, there’s nothing normal about Buffy’s life. So we have to stay away, end of story.” He turned his back to her, slowly making his way out the door.

“That’s a nice idea,” she muttered more to herself, “But is there any such thing as a normal life in Sunnydale?” He didn’t say a word, the only sign that he heard her was the speeding up of his footsteps and the tightly clenched muscles in his shoulders. With a sigh full of regret and apprehension she moved to join him down the hall. Their new life was not shaping up to be as perfect as he thought it would be. But what’s done is done, there was no going back now.

 

They spent two hours scouring the Sunnydale mall, two unbelievably long and tedious hours considering Xander had taken to completely ignoring the witch that accompanied him. Willow knew he was upset with her. He wanted nothing more than to forget their lives before this, but she knew it wasn’t that simple. History has a really nasty tendency to repeat itself and Willow feared that everything was destined to be as they were before. Maybe this whole expedition into the past was useless, but she was determined to make the best of her situation, this is what she got for acting on an impulse. 

“I think we’re done here,” she told Xander who was slouching in a chair by the dressing rooms in Macy’s. He nodded silently and stood. She was becoming a bit annoyed at his attitude, but he was still not himself and this would take some adjustment. 

They walked in silence away from the prosperous retail Mecca and through the suburban streets of Sunnydale. Ambling down the familiar sidewalks, the two friends eventually moved closer and closer to one another until Willow had her arm threaded through his, shopping bags in her other hand. Everything looked as they remembered. It was hard to believe that only hours before, this was nothing but a sinkhole. It was kind of creepy. 

Xander found it impossible to move as he stared at the door in front of him. He hadn’t been to this house in ages, hadn’t seen his only other best friend, the only other guy he could truly call a friend, in many years. Now that he had the opportunity once more, he had cold feet. Willow, ever the brave girl, reached out a tentative hand, ringing the doorbell and waited with bated breath. Their nerves were getting the better of the both of them but they stood their ground. 

The doorknob began to turn and soon enough the massive piece of wood that separated the two from the house swung open. Xander and Willow were as still as statues as the young, lanky teen appeared before them. He was as they remembered him. Tall, still rather thin, messy brown hair which he was running a hand through, and an enigmatic smile that brought joy to their hearts.

“Hey,” Jesse greeted as he waved them inside. “Big day, Will?”

“Huh?” she asked nervously, glancing around the room, unable to look him in the eye. Did he know there was something different about them? She was a little worried that he could tell that something was different about them, but she was too busy taking everything in to care. Everything was as she remembered it. And Jesse, he was undeniably…Jesse.

“Shopping? You got Xander…our Xan to shop?” he teased with a grin. “What has the world come to?”

“Ha,” she laughed, looking to Xander. He didn’t appear to be as worried as she. In fact he was grinning from ear to ear. 

“It’s so good to see you, Jess,” he said to the other boy, which caused him to look at him curiously. 

“Yeah, because it’s been so long,” he chuckled with a raised eyebrow. “Dude, I just saw you last night at the Bronze.”

“But–well…” Xander stammered, but was saved from coming up with an explanation as Willow suddenly launched herself at the boy, engulfing Jesse in a fierce hug.

“It’s nice to see you too, Wills,” he laughed, hugging her tightly before gently pushing her away with a confused glance. “You two okay? You seem a little…excited,” he added with a bright smile. 

“Can’t we just be happy to see our bestest bud?” remarked Xander with a playful punch to the boy’s arm.

“Um…sure,” he decided with a shrug. “Come on, let’s go to the basement, I just picked up this brand new video game you’re gonna love, Xan. But I warn you, be prepared for a royal ass kicking, my friend,” he taunted as he led the two down the stairs. Xander and Willow followed him slowly, just reveling in the chance to see him again, laughing, breathing. It felt so good, so comfortable. Maybe things would work out, she was beginning to truly have hope for a better future, one without all the pain and death. One with Jesse still in it. 

 

Chapter Three: Welcome to the Hellmouth 

 

Xander weaved through the crowd of high school students, much like he did in the late summer of 1997. First day of school, this was the only part of his plan he wasn’t fond of, he had to actually learn again. That sucked. Unlike the first time he arrived at school for the beginning of sophomore year, he didn’t skateboard his way along the sidewalk, instead walking somberly, looking for Willow. 

He froze in mid-step as he saw a familiar blonde walking up the front steps, looking so very young. Buffy. He looked away abruptly. She wasn’t his concern anymore. Spotting the elusive redhead approaching from the opposite side of the street, he finally let out a tiny smile and moved to join her. 

“Hey Will,” he greeted, taking a deep breath. “You ready to do this all over again?” He glanced at her, seeing how at ease she appeared. “Oh, what am I saying, *you* loved school, I’m the one who doesn’t want to be here. I’m starting to think I should have brought my high school diploma with me. That way I could have laid back for the next…oh, say three years and then do something with my life.”

“It won’t be that bad, Xander,” she replied with a roll of her eyes. This time around, the redhead ditched the green jumper, instead wearing a comfortably tight fitting pair of blue jeans and an emerald green tank top, simple but cute. She had her auburn hair pulled up in a ponytail. She was resolved to make a hair appointment for the weekend. She was eager to dye it and cut it, maybe shoulder length. “And look at it this way, you’ve taken all the tests before, so you have an advantage. You know all the answers…”

“That implies I was actually paying attention last time,” he grumbled. “Plus I would need an extraordinarily amazing memory, which I am sadly lacking.” She smiled and patted him gently on the arm.

“There, there.”

“Hey, hey,” called Jesse as he jogged up to the twosome. 

“What’s up?” greeted Xander with a wide grin. He still couldn’t get over seeing him again.

“New girl!” he replied with a wolfish grin.

“Oh, really,” mumbled Xander, glancing at Willow. “Hadn’t noticed.”

“She’s very much the hottie,” informed Jesse with a wink to Xander. Eager to be done with the subject, Xander merely rolled his eyes.

“That’s nice Jess, but we’re gonna be late for class if we don’t book.” 

Jesse gasped, feigning shock. “Xander Harris, ready and willing to go to class? Is the world coming to an end?”

“Hey now! I’ll have you know, I am a learner. I seek knowledge, very scholarly, that’s me. Tell him Will,” he encouraged with a nudge of his elbow.

“Oh yeah, he’s a fountain of knowledge, Xander is. He is wise beyond his years,” she agreed, voice laced with sarcasm. Jesse laughed a draped his arm over Willow’s shoulder, walking with her, Xander a step behind them.

“Well, I guess we are class bound. Wouldn’t want Xan to miss a thing, now would we?” Xander watched the redhead and brunette walk so casually together. He had missed their closeness. They were the three musketeers. This was how it was supposed to be. 

 

Willow found herself at the drinking fountain, thirsty beyond belief. She had just gotten out of her second class, loving the opportunity to return once again to the familiar grind of high school. This was her element. Bending slightly, her ears picked up a conversation as two girls walked down the hall.

“Well, you'll be okay here. If you hang with me and mine, you'll be accepted in no time. Of course, we do have to test your coolness factor. You're from L.A., so you can skip the written, but let's see. Vamp nail polish?”

“Um, over?”

“So over. James Spader?”

“He needs to call me!”

“Frappaccinos?” 

“Trendy but tasty.”

“John Tesh?”

“The devil.”

“That was pretty much a gimme, but…you passed!”

“Oh goody!”

“Willow…” groaned the ever recognizable voice of Cordelia Chase. Standing up straight, the redhead turned to face Sunnydale’s resident snob. The brunette made a show of looking her up and down. “Nice look, a definite change. Glad to see you ditched the softer side of Sears. Trying to get little Xander’s attention?”

She remained silent for a moment, it was taking all the strength she never knew she possessed to not look to Cordelia’s right, where Buffy Summers was currently standing, looking dismayed at the brunette’s rude statements. 

“Cordy?” sighed Willow as the brunette cocked her head to the side with an amused expression. “Bite me.” She took a moment to savor the indignant look on her face before turning sharply and walking away, never once looking back. 

“The nerve of that little geek,” mumbled Cordy, a scowl on her pretty face. She glanced at the blonde next to her. “You wanna fit in here, the first rule is: know your losers. Once you can identify them all by sight, they’re a lot easier to avoid.”

The tiny blonde laughed nervously, not happy with Cordelia’s change in attitude at all. But who was she to question her? She was new here. But suddenly, hanging with Cordy didn’t seem like such a great thing.

 

Sitting in the quad, Willow glanced around, looking for Xander and Jesse impatiently. Tucking her hair behind her ear, she looked at her watch quickly before returning her gaze to the lawn and the crowd around her.

“Uh, hi…” started Buffy as she shyly approached the seated redhead, smiling in greeting. “Willow right?” 

It took her a moment to respond, mostly because she was trying desperately to think of a way out of this conversation. She had no desire to ignore Buffy, like Xander had suggested, but she knew he was right. If they had any chance for a normal life, Buffy couldn’t be a part of it. 

“Um, hi,” the redhead replied with a tiny wave. 

“Oh, I’m Buffy, by the way,” the blonde added with a nervous giggle. “Do you mind if--”

“Wills!” called Xander, drawing her attention away from Buffy. He had seen Willow talking with the slayer and rushed to her as fast as he could, Jesse trailing slowly behind. He should have known Willow would be too softhearted to give Buffy the brush off. “Come on, Will,” he said, offering his hand to her. “We’ve gotta go, you know…busy us,” he prodded, pulling her up as Jesse joined them.

“Hey there,” smiled the taller brunette as he reached Buffy’s side. She smiled at him. Xander was still anxiously pulling on Willow’s arm and Jesse noticed his friend’s actions with a frown. Turning back to the blonde, he grinned. “What’s up? Can we do something for you?”

“What?” mumbled Buffy, feeling like she was intruding on something as she watched Willow and the other boy. They obviously didn’t want her here and she couldn’t help but feel stupid for coming over here in the first place. Going to a new school sucks. “Oh, no, you know, I’m just gonna go. Nice meeting you,” she offered with an embarrassed and slightly melancholy smile, her head bowed shyly. Before Jesse could stop her she was gone.

“Huh?” he wondered to himself what the deal was. Turning back to his best friends he looked curiously at Xander. “Uh, dude, what’s the rush?”

Xander let go of Willow as he studied their surroundings, seeing that Buffy was no longer standing there. He would be lying if he said he didn’t mind hurting Buffy. She meant a lot to him, he didn’t want to hurt her feelings. But she only caused chaos in his life, chaos he didn’t need or want. 

“Oh, no rush,” he replied, dropping next to Willow as she sat back down. “Just trying to get Will here to help me with my math.”

“It’s the first day of school and you’re already behind? Why am I not surprised?” teased Jesse. “So, what’s up for tonight? Are you up for some post-first day of school partying? We Bronzin’?”

“No!” shouted Xander, causing Jesse to grant him a weirded out look. “I mean, no. The Bronze is so out. It’s boring, blah. What do you say Will, we hang out at your place tonight? Since your parents are still out of town.” 

“S-Sure,” she agreed with a forced smile. Jesse sighed but nodded. She knew why Xander wanted them to stay in. Tonight was when Darla would turn Jesse, for his own safety they would forego a night of partying. He didn’t understand, but it was for his own good.


	2. Chapters 4-5

Chapter Four:

 

The music blared, shaking the very foundation of the only club in Sunnydale, filled to capacity with teens and the occasional twenty-something. The lanky brunette hovered on the edge of the dance floor, silently observing the pulsing crowd as he sipped on his drink. He was running late and while Jesse hated the idea of worrying or disappointing Willow, he just wasn’t in the mood to hang around her house that night. He was young, and cute if he had anything to say about it, and he wanted to have some fun. 

“Hey…” purred a semi-familiar voice. He turned slightly, smiling at the blonde girl that had attached herself to his waist. They had been talking a little earlier that night and she had left a second ago to get something to drink. Now she was back, and eager to get to know him by the looks of it.

“So, um, what did you say your name was?” he asked with an embarrassed grin.

“Darla,” she replied, batting her eyelashes and smiling flirtatiously, obviously not bothered by his lack of attention to details.

“Darla. You know, I haven’t seen you around before. Are you from around here?” he wondered, doing his best to keep the conversation going.

“No, but I have family here,” she answered with a smirk, one that went unnoticed by the captivated teen.

“Have I met them?” The smile she granted him caused him to shiver, whether in anticipation or worry he wasn’t sure. And her response he could only describe as cryptic, the teasing voice in which she replied slightly unnerving.

“You probably will…”

 

Xander was pacing, Willow was watching him pace. They were sitting in her living room, the television blaring but the noise never reaching their ears. It was approaching nine o’clock and he wasn’t here. Jesse wasn’t here yet. He was supposed to get here around seven-thirty, but he was known to be a little late. But not an hour and a half late. Something was wrong.

He refused to believe that his gut feeling was right. Xander knew something was off, but Jesse was fine, he had to be fine. They had gone to such lengths just to get him back, so he had to be fine. The ringing of the phone caused the pair to jump but Willow picked it up before the second ring finished sounding. 

“Hello? Rosenberg residence.” Xander saw her relieved smile and began to relax. It was Jesse.

“Where are you?” she asked. He wanted to know the answer to that question too. His endless pacing ceased as he chose to listen intently to Willow’s end of the conversation.

“T-The Bronze,” she repeated warily. Fear washed over them. Xander shook his head. This wasn’t supposed to happen, this is why they came back, to stop this. This was all wrong.

“No, Jess, don’t leave. We--” she never got to finish her plea before he hung up. The music had been so loud that he hadn’t heard much of what she said to begin with. 

“H-He stopped by the Bronze,” she told Xander numbly. “He said he can’t meet us here. He met a girl. A cute blonde girl.”

“Darla,” Xander whispered, burying his face in his hands. 

“Come on, Xan. We’ve gotta go. We can stop her, but we need to leave now.” He said nothing, just grabbed his jacket and followed her out the door. But they both knew it would be a pointless journey. There was no way they could reach the cemetery in time to save him. And their plans began to unravel before their eyes.

 

They watched anxiously as Buffy pummeled a minion, Thomas if Willow was correct. There was no sign of Darla or Jesse, but blood was spattered on the wall of the nearby crypt. They were too late. Oh God they were too late. She took Jesse. That bitch killed their best friend…again. Willow only hoped to be there when Angel staked Darla again. And she knew it would happen. 

This was what she was afraid of. Xander’s supposedly brilliant scheme to change everything was useless. Fate has a design, a plan. It is not meant to be changed. Sure, not everything would be as it was before, but certain people were meant to die, to shuffle off this mortal coil, and sadly, there was nothing to be done about it. Willow thought about all those times, all those near-death experiences, all those times she barely escaped the clutches of death and wondered one thing. Why not her? What was so damn special about her that the Reaper passed her up? What was it about Jesse? Why did he have to die? How would the world as we know fall asunder if one boy lived? 

But none of it mattered. She could question the Powers that Be as much as she wanted and it wouldn’t change a damn thing. And now she and Xander would have to literally relive the experiences that shaped them, hurt them, nearly tore them apart, all over again. If she wasn’t depressed before, she was now. She wondered if this was what Hell was like. Knowing what was about to come, knowing the pain and heartache that awaited you and not being able to do a damn thing to change it. She wished she had never listened to Xander in the first place.

Buffy won the battle, which came as no surprise to either of her silent and hidden observers. The blonde looked around the cemetery, searching with her eyes for Jesse no doubt, visibly unnerved when she realized he was no where to be seen. She had failed. Silently cursing herself, Buffy briskly jogged out of the cemetery, she needed to speak with Giles.

 

“It wasn’t supposed to be this way,” he moaned pitifully as the brunette sat on Willow’s bed, feeling unusually numb. She said nothing, there was nothing to be said. She wasn’t about to tell him ‘I told you so’. He didn’t deserve to be patronized.

“He shouldn’t have been there. Why the hell couldn’t he just listen to me for once?!” he screamed, frustration and pain, in its purest form, pouring off him in waves.

“There was nothing we could do, Xan,” she whispered, leaning against her desk, giving him the space he needed.

“How can you say that? We should have walked him over here. Done something to make sure he never went to the Bronze. We should have done something. Our second day back and we screwed up already…”

“Don’t you see, Xander?” she pleaded, wishing he would look her in the eye. “Some things can’t be changed. I’m willing to bet that even if we walked him here and back home, somehow he would have been attacked. If it wasn’t Darla it would have been another vampire or demon. When our number’s up, that’s it. No second chances.” 

“Buffy died…twice,” he reminded her with a glare. “She was brought back. What about that?”

“You gave her CPR. She wasn’t mean to die, not really. It wasn’t her time.”

“And what about after Glory? She was pretty damn dead that time.” 

“That had nothing to do with Fate and everything to do with me and too much of my own power. I played God, Xander. Trust me when I say I’ll never do it again. She shouldn’t have been brought back. Her return, it opened the door for the First. Actions have consequences, Xan. Even if we saved Jesse, someone else would have died. There’s nothing we could have done.” 

“Some consolation that is,” he scoffed, wiping away a stray tear. 

“It doesn’t make it better,” she agreed softly. “But it’s the truth.” Silence reigned for minutes and minutes, neither knowing what to say before Willow once again spoke. 

“Are you gonna go to the Bronze tomorrow night?” she asked hesitantly. He knew what she wasn’t saying. Was he going to go to the Bronze tomorrow night and stake Jesse, like he did all those years before? He didn’t want to, he really didn’t want to.

“Yeah,” he replied, bowing his head and sniffling. He didn’t want to stake his best friend again, but it would kill him to see the demon with his friend’s face, torturing and killing innocent people. It was for the best to just get it over with. Willow nodded absently. She would be at his side. 

“Sometimes,” he commiserated with a hollow laugh, “I wonder if the world hates us. If Fate hates us so much that we have to watch all the people we love die, not once, but twice, and yet we are still here. Why do we go on? Why do they get to rest? It’s endless, Will. We fight and for what? Humanity comes with an expiration date. We’re merely delaying someone’s death. So are we really doing any good? Or are we just gluttons for punishment?”

“You can’t think like that,” she warned him gently. “That attitude makes you careless. It can get you killed.”

“Somehow, that’s not as frightening a prospect as it should be,” he told her sadly. “I’m just so damn tired of it Will. I thought…”

“What Xander? What?” she prodded.

“I thought coming here would make it better. But it’s not better. It’s the same. Anya’s still gone, Jesse’s as good as dead. It’s like we’re destined to lose everyone.” 

“Those were the cards we were dealt,” she said quietly. “We can’t trade them, Xan. But we can control how the game is played. We can wallow, Lord knows we’ve done a lot of that, or we can continue on. Buffy is gonna need our help…”

“She’s on her own,” he declared fervently. “I’m done Will. I mean it. We’re all destined to die like you said, right? Nothing I do or say will change it. So I quit. I’m not putting myself through that again, all the slaying and the injuries and the death. We’ve all had our share of broken bones and pain, my god Will, you’ve even been in a coma! But I’m not going to do it all over again. Fate can do what it will with me, but I’m not about to voluntarily go back to that. I love Buffy, you know that. But this is her calling not ours. I can’t stop you Will. But I’m begging you, don’t help her. You now what’s going to happen, that Ms. Calendar will die, do you want to relive that again? Isn’t it better to distance yourself from it all?” 

She didn’t reply. She honestly didn’t know what to say. And to be truthful, he wasn’t really expecting an answer. 

 

Chapter Five: Prophecy Girl

 

The following weeks were strange for Willow and Xander. Things were happening around them just as they remembered. Xander did as he promised and staked Jesse, but this time there was no pleading for the boy to listen, Xander just pierced his heart and watched as he disintegrated before his eyes. It wasn’t an easier for him to do this time around, but he did what had to be done.

He still had all the memories from before. How naïve he had been, the first time around. Begging Jesse to listen to reason when they first found out he had been turned. ‘Jesse, man. We’re buds, don’t you remember?’ His words seemed foolish to Xander now. ‘Jesse, I know there’s still a part of you in there.’ He was stupid, that was all he could think. And all Jesse, or the demon wearing his face, could say was, ‘Jesse was an excruciating loser who couldn’t get a date with anyone in the sighted community! Look at me. I’m a new man!’ He had known then and there that there was no hope for his friend. At least this time, he didn’t have to listen to a demon belittle his best friend. No words were spoken, they were pointless. 

They did their best to keep things as they should be. Willow made sure to deal with Amy, whose mother had switched bodies with her daughter, before any of the cheerleaders, even Cordy, could be hurt. Although it was seriously tempting to let Mrs. Madison do what she wished with Cordelia. 

Buffy slayed the praying mantis teacher, as she did before, their help was unneeded there. Xander made no attempts to watch over Buffy, only Willow looked out for their friend, made sure she was alright. But the redhead was worried. The blonde was so alone. Xander maintained that the slayer was born to be alone, destined to live a solitary life, but no one should be so isolated. Especially considering all the stress she had in her life. It wasn’t fair to her. And yet, Willow remained in the background, wanting to help, but fearing the repercussions of such actions. 

Willow made sure that she and Xander had front row seats to Darla’s dusting at the hands of Angel, watching from the shadows of the abandoned Bronze. The boy didn’t seem any happier, but she knew seeing Jesse’s killer get what was coming to her was helping him heal, if only a little. 

Buffy now knew Angel was a vampire and reacted just as she remembered. It was so eerily similar that it gave the witch the shivers. Xander was so determined to not think about what was going on in the slayer’s life that Willow found that she had no one to confide in about her worries. Everything was the same, but this time, she felt without a purpose. She wasn’t helping fight evil. Instead she was living a ‘normal’ teenage life. Trouble was she wasn’t a normal teenager. Not helping Buffy made her feel useless. Xander felt as unanchored as she did, she knew, but he was too stubborn to tell her. 

Everything progressed as she remembered. There was Sid, the talking dummy from the talent show. The hyena possessed group of kids, with the exception of Xander of course. Willow had tried her best to save Principal Flutie, but her efforts to help the kindly man were in vain. The pack had gotten to him before she could do a thing. And then there was Marcy, the invisible girl who tried to disfigure Cordelia. Buffy resolved that problem all on her own. On one hand, Willow was proud of the blonde. She was extremely good at her job. But on other, she was beginning to wonder if, before, she really needed their help, or if they had merely been an inconvenience. Maybe Spike had been right all those years ago, when he was still raging over the chip shoved in his head. Maybe she and Xander were the same 10th grade losers they always had been and Buffy was too much of a softie to cut them loose. She hoped she was wrong.

Weeks went by and the redhead was filled with a sense of apprehension. She had this feeling, like she was forgetting something really important, something life changing, as if their life hadn’t changed so much already. She made her way down the crowded hallways of Sunnydale High, heading to her locker. Thankfully it was Friday and the day was over. Normally she loved school, she knew she was nerd at heart, but today, she felt nervous and worried. She just wanted to go home, soak in a long, hot bath, and forget today ever happened. 

“There you are,” sighed Xander as he jogged to her side. “We home bound Wills?” He had taken to staying at her house when her parents were away, his parents didn’t really seem to notice his disappearance. 

“Yeah, I think I’m gonna stay in tonight. No Bronzing for me, what about you?” she wondered with a small smile at the brunette beside her as she zipped up her backpack and closed her locker. 

“No Bronze for me either, tonight’s the Spring Fling remember? Not your typical laidback evening. The Bronze will be overrun with overdressed teens and I have no desire to subject myself to the horror of a high school dance,” he told her with a shudder. 

“I know what you mean,” she agreed softly. Something was still nagging at the back of her mind and Xander’s comment only made it worse, but she still couldn’t figure out what it was. 

 

They were watching TV, nothing interesting, just another episode of “The Real World”. Xander glanced back at the redhead seated next to him, studying her intently as she fidgeted and shifted on the couch constantly. She adjusted her position again and Xander had finally had enough.

“Willow! What’s the matter with you?” The witch found herself looking to the clock, seeing it was past six, the sun had gone down by now. 

“I don’t know,” she replied regretfully. “Don’t you feel it, Xan?”

“Feel what?” he asked curiously, scooting closer.

“I just feel like there’s something we’re supposed to be doing. Something big, can’t you feel it? It’s been driving me crazy all day.” 

“Nothing’s gonna happen tonight, Wills. Nothing bad happened at the Spring Fling, no demonic interruptions or anything, so relax; will you?”

“Spring Fling…” she muttered to herself. “Oh God, the Spring Fling! We’ve got to go!” She jumped off the couch, not even bothering to turn off the television, instead tugging insistently at his arm as he gave her a strange look. 

“Damn it Xan, move your ass,” she demanded, surprising him into action. “The Spring Fling, the Master is gonna rise tonight and that means that Buffy’s going to die, remember? We have to go, you have to save her, give her CPR like before! Now!”

“Maybe we shouldn’t--” he started but her furious glare stopped him. Willow was wearing her world famous resolve face and he had no desire to fight her. Underneath all the anger and the pain that clouded his judgment still, he cared for Buffy. Willow was right, it wasn’t Buffy’s time; they had to help. Clamping his mouth shut, he let her pull him out of her house. 

“Where do we go? Do you remember the way?” He stopped in his tracks, trying his best to remember how to get to the Master’s underground lair, but he only remembered bits and pieces.

“No,” he replied soberly, but he grabbed her hand and pulled her in the opposite direction. “But I know someone who does.”

 

Xander pounded on the door with Willow beside him, looking on with worry and confusion. He realized she had no idea where they were. The door was flung open and they found themselves face to face with an annoyed Angel who was looking down at them uneasily. He wore blue jeans, which Willow found surprising. She forgot, in the early days, when Angel was still Mystery Man, he wore jeans and a tank, sometimes a leather jacket. It had been so long since she had seen him in anything but black slacks and a dress shirt. It caught her off guard. If it was any consolation, Angel was caught off guard as well. The younger brunette knew there was no time to waste and he was in no mood to deal with Angel’s nervousness at their arrival. 

“She’s in danger, we need you to find her,” he told the vampire gravely who only raised an eyebrow in response. “Buffy, the slayer. The Master is gonna kill her tonight if you don’t help us find her, like five minutes ago!”

“How do you know about Buffy?” he growled defensively, taking an angry step forward, the glare on his face making Willow cringe. “Who the hell are you?!” 

“Listen, Angel,” Xander interrupted, shocking the vampire when he called him by his name. “We don’t have time for this; she doesn’t have time for this. I’d be happy to explain who we are and why we are here when she’s out of danger. Now, are you going to help us deadboy, or are we going to have to save her ourselves?” Willow nearly broke out into hysterical laughter at Xander’s old nickname for Angel, but managed to keep her expression serious. Now was not the time for jokes.

“Fine,” Angel replied briskly, “but when this is over, you and I are going to have a long talk, both of you,” he warned darkly before pushing past the teen and heading out of his building. He didn’t even need to be told where to start looking for the slayer. He knew where the entrance to the Master’s lair was and he knew, no matter the earlier warnings he had given her, the blonde was too headstrong to listen to him or her watcher. 

Willow and Xander followed only a few feet behind the speeding vampire, saying nothing. Xander was uncharacteristically serious, but sadly that seemed the norm for him the past few weeks. Willow was too busy trying to think of how they were going to explain things to Angel without telling him everything or making him think they were certifiable. She knew how protective the vampire was of Buffy, it would be sweet if she weren’t about to be on the receiving end of his overprotective nature. Soul or not, Angel would kill to keep Buffy safe and Willow really wasn’t looking to be on his hit list. 

They entered a crypt and slipped through a hidden doorway, weaving quickly through the twisting passages underneath one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries. Silence reigned, only broken by the sounds of heavy footfall, dripping water, and rats scurrying around. Candlelight flickered from a nearing doorway and they sped up their pace. 

Angel only paused for a moment, shocked at seeing Buffy lying at the far end of the Master’s self-induced prison, face down in a pool of dirty water. He shook himself and ran to her, dragging her quickly from the water and looking down at her still form, visibly shaken. 

Xander was brought back to all those years ago, when he first found Buffy dead and cold and he could repress the unconscious shudder that made its way through his body. Willow was not impaired by such memories, moving to join the vampire on the ground before screaming for Xander to get over there and help. The younger brunette fell to his knees beside the trio, laying Buffy flat on her back and leaning over her body, placing his joined hands on the center of her chest and pushing down repeatedly three times before tipping her head back slightly and covering her mouth with his own and pinching her nose shut. He offered her vital air before moving away and repeating his actions. 

Thankfully it only took two tries before the blonde’s body lurched and she began to cough up the water that had filled her lungs. Angel placed a hand on the small of her back, pushing her into a sitting position to help her breathe. 

“How are you Buffy?” Willow asked softly, relieved when the slayer looked to her, eyes sharp and focused.

“W-Willow?” she murmured confusedly, unsure as to why a mere acquaintance of hers was here. 

“Are you alright?” Angel prodded, his attention devoted to the tiny slayer, the two strangers forgotten. 

“I feel fine…great even,” Buffy told him, losing herself in the endless depths of his eyes.

“Great?” he asked incredulously, “You died Buffy.” His voice nearly cracked with pain and terror at the thought of her death. He wanted nothing more than to pull her into his arms, assure himself she was really there, but he resisted.

“Really Angel,” she assured him as he helped her up. “I’m good, I feel energized.”

“Uh, people,” broke in Xander, feeling every bit the outsider, “not to break up the happy reunion, but there’s still the issue of the Master.” Buffy looked away from Angel’s worried gaze, studying Xander closely, wondering how he knew anything about the Master. She glanced back to the vampire, cocking her head to the side, silently asking if they were friend or foe. He nodded to her once and she relaxed slightly.

“He’s gone up,” Angel told her in a low tone, nervous about sharing such information with these strangers. Buffy didn’t look fazed, instead, she squared her shoulders and with one final glance at the other pair in the room, she straightened herself.

“Then let’s go.”

 

The foursome walked briskly down the streets of Sunnydale. Buffy knew where they were going, Angel seemed to be the only one who was merely following the slayer. Willow and Xander didn’t need to use the blonde as a guide. They were going back to the high school, back to the hellmouth. 

When they reached the front of the school, Buffy stopped, appraising the redhead and brunette respectively. She looked every bit the wartime general. Deciding they could be trusted, she turned to Angel. 

“Okay, you wait here, keep the rest of the vampires off of me. And Angel…you better put on your game face,” she added before spinning on her heel, her white dress flaring in the breeze as she strode confidently into the halls and up the stairs to the roof. She had a vampire to kill. 

The trio split up, Willow and Xander taking the right side of the hallway, Angel taking the left. Minions swarmed the corridor, but they were nothing the experienced fighters couldn’t handle. The two humans may not be properly trained, but after years of staking vamps, it became second nature to them. They could definitely hold their own. When he wasn’t pummeling vamps, Angel took the opportunity to watch the twosome. There was something about them that was just…off. He wasn’t sure they could be trusted. 

Hearing a frantic scream come from inside the library, they ran for the double doors. Giles, Jenny, and Cordelia were strewn about the room, alternately battling that three-headed hellmouth creature Willow remembered so well. She used to have nightmares about that one. Giles swung at it with an axe but he barely made a dent.

Angel ran to help them, but Xander and Willow remained close to the counter. They knew what was coming, no need getting injured when it would be over in a minute. A resounding crash was heard, causing the entire group to look up to the skylight where the body of the Master, still hurling curses at the slayer above him, fell and impaled itself on a stray piece of broken wood. With an unearthly scream of fury, the Master began to deteriorate rapidly as the creature that had burst through the floor scrambled back into the safety of its home. 

They all stood there for a moment, staring blankly at the scene in front of them, only the sound of Buffy’s clicking heels waking them from their stupor. The blonde stopped after taking a few steps into the library, her gaze falling on the bones of the Master, lying there like a morbid art display. 

“The vampires?” Giles inquired exhaustedly, not paying any attention to their guests. 

“Gone,” Cordy assured him.

“The Master?” Angel muttered, still unable to believe that bastard of a grandsire was gone.

“Dead. The hellmouth is closed,” Giles replied, pulling off his glasses and cleaning them furiously. 

Seeing they did what they came to do, namely save Buffy, Xander took Willow’s hand, hoping against hope to make an unnoticed escape. They weren’t that fortunate. 

Angel crossed the room, vampiric speed working to his advantage as he placed himself in front of their path, blocking the doors.

“You’re not going anywhere,” he told them, staring them down, practically daring them to argue with him. “Seems we have a lot to talk about. Find a seat and get comfy, you’re gonna be here for awhile,” he advised, arms crossed over his chest. Willow chanced a glance around the room, feeling like she was under a microscope as the entire group watched them suspiciously. 

“Well,” she sighed, looking to Xander apologetically. “Let’s get this over with…”


	3. Chapters 6-9

Chapter Six:

 

The anxious redhead and her brunette companion moved to take seats where they could considering the library was currently in shambles. Buffy spared them one glance before turning to her watcher.

“What about him?” she wondered, pointing to the remains of the Master that were lying there unceremoniously in the center of the room. 

“Uh, well,” he stammered, taking off his glasses and cleaning them, bringing back so many memories as the forgotten twosome looked on. “We bury him, sprinkle the grave in holy water, consecrate the dirt, just to be safe,” he decided with a proud smile.

“A-Actually,” interrupted Willow, shrinking farther into her chair when every gaze turned in her direction. “You don’t want to do that.”

“And why, may I ask, is that?” questioned the librarian, not used to having someone question him, especially not some…child. 

“You can use all the holy water and, uh…consecrated dirt…you want, but that’s not gonna stop them,” she explained. “The vampires, that is. They’ll dig him out–ow!” she shrieked when Xander hit her in the arm with a surprisingly sharp elbow. Glaring at him, she ignored his warning glance and continued. “Trust me, only badness can come from that.”

Giles went to argue, but Buffy beat him to it. “Why would they dig him out? He’s a big pile of bones. What use is that?” 

“A big pile of bones? No use at all,” declared Willow, “but a big pile of bones resurrected, lots of uses. Mostly of the evil variety. The Master’s followers, led by the Anointed, will try to resurrect the Master, to kill you. So, my recommendation, skip the burial. Crushing his bones to a fine dust, that should work nicely. Can’t resurrect a pile of dust, can you?”

“Giles, is she--” the slayer started, looking beseeching to her watcher, but he wasn’t the one to answer her. 

“She’s right,” said Angel, watching the redhead carefully. She radiated power, must be a witch, he couldn’t sense anything demonic about her, or her companion for that matter. But for someone so young and…non-threatening, she knew way too much about their current situation than he cared for. 

“The Master was no ordinary vampire,” he acknowledged softly. “He didn’t even turn to dust, just a skeleton. The best idea would be to destroy what’s left of the body. Then you can dispose of him anyway you want without risking the possibility of his return.” 

“Y-Yes,” agreed Giles warily. “That does sound about right.” The older gentleman leaned on the counter, the events of the night taking their toll on him. Jenny moved to his side and Willow did her best to not look at the computer teacher. It was strange, seeing her here, alive. 

“What I’d like to know,” declared Angel, taking a step toward the seated pair, Buffy a couple feet behind him, Cordelia lingering beside the blonde. “Is *how* you know all this.” He spared a quick glance at the brunette before settling his gaze on the redhead. She made him a little nervous, but the boy he didn’t see as a threat. 

“I research,” she offered with a hesitant shrug. Angel’s displeased growl made her jump and Xander’s hand tightened its grip on her own, reassuring her. 

“And why is that?” 

“Hobby?” she replied weakly, cringing at the vampire’s maddened scowl. 

“And what high school girl spends her time reading up on demons and the different ways to kill them?” Willow didn’t even bother to respond, only shooting Angel a raised eyebrow and looking to the slayer behind him. Xander didn’t even try to hold back his amused snort. 

Angel looked a little sheepish as he turned to glance at Buffy.

“Well, actually,” the tiny blonde interrupted, trying to spare Angel embarrassment. “I don’t do a lot of reading, not my thing. I’m more of a hands on kinda girl. Just point me in the direction of something evil and we’re good.” 

“Yes, Buffy, we get your point,” sighed an exasperated Giles. “You don’t read. Which is truly a tragedy, you children these days have no grasp of the written word. Bloody teenagers…” he muttered, Buffy merely smirking at her watcher’s rant. 

“How did you know Buffy was in trouble tonight?” Angel inquired, bringing them back on track. This time, he was concentrating on Xander who sunk farther into his chair under the weight of the vampire’s gaze. 

“Lucky guess?” he retorted, eager to jump at the opportunity to piss off the souled vampire. 

“That’s it!” snarled Angel, game face coming forward as he glared at the couple. “I’m sick of you’re smart-ass remarks. I *want* answers, now!” 

“Is that supposed to be threatening?” scoffed Xander, this time it was him ignoring Willow’s warning looks. “It might be if I didn’t know you were all soul-having, Angelus.”

The room fell silent and Xander was inwardly scolding himself for his last taunt. The idea was to get out of this little inquisition without divulging as much information as possible. He was screwing up royally. His only consolation was that Willow had screwed up too, so at least he wasn’t alone. 

“How do you know about my soul?” the glowering brunette asked softly. 

“I know a lot of things, we both do,” Xander shrugged. “Doesn’t mean we’re the enemy.” 

“You’ve obviously done your research on us,” countered Angel, “we’re supposed to trust someone who’s been spying on us?” 

“We haven’t been spying on you!” cried Willow, angry at Xander for pushing Angel. “And we haven’t been…‘doing our research’…we just–know things. We can’t get into how, you wouldn’t understand, but we’re not here to threaten you. We want to help.”

“Speak for yourself,” grumbled Xander, tugging his hand free from her grip. “*I* don’t want to help,” he told the group, “*I* want to go home. Maybe get some sleep…”

“Shut up!” the witch hissed, the annoyed look on her face causing Xander to fall quiet. 

“So…you–know things?” Angel wondered skeptically. “You’re…seers?”

“You could say that…” replied Xander cryptically. He smirked when he saw the confused expression on Angel’s face. See how you like it Lack-of-Words-Guy. 

“Look,” broke in Buffy, tired of the bickering, “we’re getting no where. Angel,” she implored, turning to the tall vampire, “they saved me, helped us defeat the Master. That doesn’t really place them in the ‘bad guys’ category. Plus, if they really are seers, they could be helpful. I say we declare a truce, okay?” she offered, looking to Willow and Xander. “You have to understand why we’re a little…standoffish. But if you’re really here to help…we might be able to work something out.”

“I understand completely,” assured Willow, but Xander said nothing, totally ignoring them all, not happy with the idea of being one of the Scoobies again. This is what they came back to avoid. 

The group of seven shuffled their feet and shifted in their chairs awkwardly, a tentative alliance now formed. Willow glanced at Xander, frowning at his closed off expression. Angel watched them suspiciously. While Buffy might be willing to have a truce, she knew Angel wasn’t about to let things go as easily. They would have to keep an eye out for him. After nearly a minute of complete silence, Cordelia finally took the lead. 

“Hey! I hear there’s a dance at the Bronze tonight. Could be fun…Buffy?”

“Sure. We saved the world. I say we party!” she decided with a happy shrug. “I mean, I got all pretty…” They all started to head to the double doors.

“I’m not dancing, though,” declared Giles, in his own stuffy British manner.

“We’ll see…” teased Miss Calendar.

“You can come with us Angel,” Buffy offered shyly and he smiled slightly, moving to her side. “You guys coming?” the slayer wondered, looking back to the remaining two still lingering in the library.

Willow turned to Xander, seeing he had absolutely no desire to join in the fun. After all, they had done this all before, it’s not like they were going to miss anything. But still, part of her wanted to link arms with Buffy once more and dance, have fun. But then she would be right back where she started and that would defeat the whole purpose of their little time traveling expedition. 

“Nah,” she sighed sadly, “go on,” she shooed them. “We’re just going to go home.” They watched them leave, waiting a minute before Xander stood, making his way through the rubble that was the library, Willow behind him. Everything was so similar to before, not exactly the same, but still…he was beginning to wonder if his life was destined to turn out to be as depressing as it had been before. The two stepped foot out of the school, looking to the right and watching Buffy and the gang walking off to the Bronze. With a heavy heart, he took Willow’s hand once more and they started walking, turning to the left, listening to the laughing voices slowly fade away. 

 

Chapter Seven: School Hard

 

Willow stood just outside the doors to the library, silently debating whether or not to go inside. Xander was at the Bronze, which wasn’t unusual these days. He had begun to even avoid her. He wasn’t happy, that was certain. But she was at a loss what to do. He was still so adamant that he could change things, make them better. Willow wasn’t so sure. So here she was, standing outside the library where Buffy, Cordy, Angel, and Giles were congregated. It was a Monday night and to any normal teenager, school would not be the place to be on a Monday night. But they weren’t normal teens, so the library it is. 

With a deep breath, the redhead pushed open the doors. Xander may not want to be of any help, but she needed a purpose once more, and she needed to help any way she could. Four pairs of eyes turned to the doorway and Willow fought the urge to look away. She never did like having the spotlight on her. 

“Hey Will,” greeted Buffy with a small smile. The redhead gave a tiny wave and moved closer to the table. Cordelia didn’t bother with a hello, they had never been the best of friends. Angel regarded her carefully before simply nodding in her direction and Giles offered a fatherly smile. Her appearance wasn’t exactly a new thing. Every once and awhile she would come here, offer advice as best she could. She was slowly gaining their trust, although she knew Angel still held some reservations about her. They never really spoke about it, but she knew they still considered her a seer. Surprising even herself, she made no move to correct them. In a way it was true, plus she wouldn’t have to find a way to explain how she and Xander managed to defy the laws of time and space to come back here. 

“Hey Buff,” she said with a nervous grin, slipping into the free chair next to the slayer. They weren’t the best of friends, not yet at least. And with Xander’s increasing avoidance of her, she was beginning to really long for a friend, but she and the blonde were becoming closer, if that was any consolation. “What’s the creature feature tonight?” 

“Actually,” replied Buffy with a shrug, “we don’t have one. We had that whole thing with Chris and Darryl Epps, but that’s finished and done with, thankfully,” she shivered at the thought of the boys, piecing together the perfect girl. Creepy beyond words if you asked her. 

“That whole thing gave me major wiggins,” Willow agreed.

“There is one issue at hand,” interrupted Giles, looking up from one of his many demonic volumes. 

“What’s that?” asked Cordelia in her patented bored tone. She spared them all a glance before looking back at her nails. 

“The Anointed One,” Giles answered grimly. “He’s still on the loose. And as we well know, he may have the body of a child, but the strength of a demon and a mind that rivaled the Master’s in intelligence and deviousness. I’m afraid he needs to be taken care of and soon.”

“Got it,” declared Buffy with a determined nod. “Damien is dust.” 

Willow took a moment to think about the last time the Anointed One roamed Sunnydale. Her face paled and she swallowed nervously, her mouth suddenly dry.

“Um, that really won’t be necessary,” she whispered uncertainly. The librarian closed his book with a sigh. She had proven that she did have some ability in predicting the future, exactly how he wasn’t sure. But he was still reluctant to believe her every time she offered some sage advice. 

“And why is that now?” he said in exasperation.

“The Anointed One will be taken care of soon enough. He’s not your concern.” She didn’t want to say too much more.

“Who is going to kill the Anointed One?” asked Angel, studying the redhead carefully.

“I can’t say, I’m really not sure,” she replied regretfully. “You’ll just have to trust me. He’s not threat, give it a week, and he’ll be dust.”

“Another one of your ‘visions’?” he added with a questioning eyebrow. 

“Angel,” Buffy interrupted, her voice a warning, “back off.” She gave Willow an apologetic smile. “Sorry about him, but you know how he is. The attitude comes with the fangs, I think.”

“No problem,” the witch assured her softly. 

“Anyway, I’m all for some time off,” Buffy continued with a grin. “No baddies to kill, no new Masters, a girl could get used to this…and I totally just jinxed myself, didn’t I?” she groaned. Cordelia bit back a laugh and Willow placed a sympathetic hand on her arm.

“Well, kinda,” Willow admitted tentatively. She had learned pretty quickly that certain events were going to happen no matter what, so it was best to merely go with the flow. But she also learned that revealing too much information made everyone very suspicious. She was sure Angel thought she was some sort of spy or something, ferreting information to all the demons in the town about their goings on. He couldn’t be further from the truth. So from now on, she only gave little warnings, but nothing really solid. It was as much for her own safety than anything else. 

“Oh, great,” Buffy complained, her head laying on the table with a ‘thunk’ as she thought about fighting yet another Master. “This week bites, first there’s Snyder, comparing me to Sheila…*Sheila* of all people. Then telling me I have to organize Parent-Teacher night in hopes of not getting expelled. Now you’re telling me there’s gonna be a new Master? My life sucks,” she pouted as Angel looked on with a tiny grin.

“Ugh, I forgot to tell you about that, Wills,” she whined. “Principal Snyder actually thinks I’m as bad as Sheila, so now I’m paired up with her to decorate the lounge for Parent-Teacher night. I mean, okay, so I’ve cut class, and maybe I’ve been in a couple fights, but slayer here! I never hit anyone that didn’t really deserve it! She actually stabbed a teacher w-with some pruning shears and he’s comparing me to her! The nerve, honestly!” 

“I know Buffy, he’s evil,” the redhead giggled.

“Isn’t he though!” she huffed with a frown. 

“You need any help with the decorating and stuff? I’ve got some free time on my hands if you need me,” Willow offered, genuinely hoping Buffy would agree. 

The slayer jumped at the chance, throwing her arms around a surprised witch and squeezing her tightly as she squealed in delight.

“Oh God thanks Wills!” The redhead tried to speak but all she could manage was a few squeaks. “Oops, sorry. Forgot, slayer-strength and all,” she apologized with a sheepish grin. She fell back into her own chair, glancing shyly in Angel’s direction before turning to Willow once more.

“So, you sure there’s a new baddie heading this way, my all-seeing friend?”

“Yup,” Willow answered soberly, thinking about the vampire she knew so well currently heading to town. “Things are gonna get interesting.”

Buffy could only sigh regretfully. “Damn…”

 

 

The night was quiet, undisturbed. The only sounds pervading the endless silence were that of crickets and the occasional whistling of the wind. In the distance, along the deserted road, a faint roaring could be heard in the distance. The noise became louder and louder with every passing second and anyone passing by would easily recognize it as the sound of a car engine. 

Lights were scarce along the two lane highway, the only lamps were perched above the rather large ‘Welcome to Sunnydale’ sign on the side of the road. The engine revved as it neared the city limits, the driver flooring the gas until it could go no further, the car, a ’58 black Desoto FireFlite flying down the road at a dangerous speed.

As the sign came into view through the painted black windshield the car turned sharply off the side of the road, barreling through the piece of wood, causing it to splinter into thousands of pieces. The Desoto came to a screeching halt, the driver’s side door opening with a hard shove. 

Black boots stepped out onto the dirt and grass, the broken pieces of wood crunching under the weight of the person. The man, easily recognizable with his bleach blonde hair and leather duster, searched his coat pockets for a cigarette and his lighter. His face, distorted by unnatural ridges and wrinkles, shone underneath the faint light of the street lamp. 

Flickering open his lighter and lighting the cigarette now pursed between his lips, he took a deep breath, inhaling the comforting smoke before exhaling with a grin that could only be described as pure evil. His voice tinged with a husky British accent as he finally spoke.

“Home, sweet home.”

 

Chapter Eight:

 

“Sheila's a no-show? She goes to this really rank bar. The Fish Tank? Sometimes they have raids and other stuff that can make you tardy.” Willow offered Buffy a sympathetic smile as they continued to paint the banner that needed to hang above the lounge. She had tried to get Xander to help out but he not-so-politely declined. She was still a little mad at him for that.

“D'you think you can help me cram some French tonight? I don't want Mr. DeJean telling my mother I'm an imbecile,” sighed Buffy. As if hosting Parent-Teacher night wasn’t stressful enough, she had a French test coming up. Welcome to awesomeness that was her life.

“I thought we were going to the Bronze tonight. 'Cause of how you thought Angel might show?”

“We're going to the Bronze. I can study and party and do Parent-Teacher night and make my mother proud as long as I don't have to...” she said, her hopes plummeting at the sight of Giles coming down the hall.

“Buffy!”

“...fight vampires,” she groaned as she focused on the older gentleman.

“There is nothing in the chronicles about a-an extraneous lunar cycle.”

“The Order never accurately calculated the Mesopotamian Calendar. Rupert, you have *got* to read something that was published after 1066,” argued Jenny with a grin.

“Very funny,” he drawled before shaking himself and turning to his charge.

“W-um, Ms. Calendar has been researching, well, uh, surfing on her computer, a-and she's... Well, according to her calculations, this Saturday is the night of St. Vigeous.”

“Let me guess: he didn't make balloon animals,” replied Buffy dryly. 

“No, he led a crusade, of, of, uh, vampires. They swept through Edessa, Harran, and points east.”

“And they didn't leave much behind,” added Miss Calendar.

“Well, if I survive Parent-Teacher night tomorrow, I'll see what I can do about Saturday,” the slayer said dismissively.

“You're being a tad flip, don't you think? This is serious.”

“And getting kicked out of school is laughs aplenty?” she countered with a raised eyebrow.

“You know what happens when you, you let your life interfere with your slaying,” he complained with a reprimanding look.

“Okay, well, if my slaying doesn't get me expelled, then I promise my banner making won't get me killed, okay? Just please let me get through this week,” she pleaded, happy when he finally nodded and let the subject drop. “Ugh,” she groaned, “Snyder alert,” Buffy sighed as she glanced at Willow. This was gonna be a long day.

 

“The Master is dead. Someone has to take his place,” declared a burly vampire, not much more than a minion, as he paced the length of the abandoned factory.

“As long as the Slayer's alive, whoever takes his place will be sharing his grave,” said another grimly, his game face present.

“Then let the soul who kills her wear his mantle,” decided the other with a nod.

“Can you do it?” wondered Colin. He sat on a pile of crates, the boxes giving the deceptively innocent looking boy the height he was lacking.

“Yes. This weekend, the night of St. Vigeous, our power shall be at its peak. When I kill her, it'll be the greatest event since the crucifixion. And I should know. I was there,” he added with a smug grin.

“*You* were *there*?” called out a doubtful but amused voice. “Oh, please! If every vampire who said he was at the crucifixion was actually there, it would have been like Woodstock.” The trio watched the newcomer warily. The vampire was only about five feet, ten inches tall, not particularly muscled or physically imposing, but he radiated danger.

“I oughta rip your throat out,” growled the self-declared leader, taking a step toward the stranger.

“I was actually at Woodstock,” continued the bleach blonde, stuffing his hands in the pockets of his leather duster, sending them a toothy grin, his handsome face distorted by ridges and fangs. “That was a weird gig. I fed off a flower person, and I spent the next six hours watchin' my hand move,” he remembered with a wave of his pale hand.

The annoyed and disgruntled vampire he had been mocking rushed him, but the stranger wasn’t swayed, merely flinging back his fist and punching out the presumptuous vampire, knocking him to the floor. “So. Who do you kill for fun around here?”

“Who are you?” asked the Anointed One with a curious gleam in his eyes.

“Spike,” the blonde replied with a smirk, “You're that Anointed guy. I read about you. You've got Slayer problems. That's a bad piece of luck,” he commiserated with a frown. “Do you know what I find works real good with Slayers? Killing them.”

“Can you?” the boy inquired, eager to be rid of the pesky slayer.

“A lot faster than Nancy-boy there,” Spike snorted. “Yeah, I did a couple Slayers in my time. I don't like to brag. Who am I kidding? I *love* to brag! There was this one Slayer during the Boxer Rebellion, and...” The door to the factory slid open and Spike’s demonic façade slid from his face as he peered over his shoulder.

“Drusilla,” he called with a frown, extending a hand to the tired brunette. The woman, dressed in a gauzy white gown floated to him, taking his offered hand with a small smile. “You shouldn’t be walking around,” he chastised softly. “You’re weak.”

He studied her face, trying to judge her condition. There were days she was dangerously weak, could barely move around. Then there were other days she seemed like her old self, before that mess in Prague. He worried about her these days. They had a strange relationship. Ever since Angelus up and left him, Dru had become increasingly dependent on his help. He had no problem being there for her, but there were times when he longed for a solitary existence. But still, she was his sister, in the vampiric sense, family, and he wouldn’t abandon her like their sire did. He used to wonder why they never really became more than friends, but he knew the answer. The broken woman before him only loved Angelus, and Spike had no desire to try and fill their sire’s position in her heart. 

“Look at all the people,” she cooed, staring at the small group before her. “Are they nice people?”

“We’re getting along,” he assured her with a sad smile. Taking a deep, unneeded breath, he turned back to Colin. “Me and Dru, we're movin' in. Now, any of you want to test who's got the biggest wrinklies 'round here... step on up. I'll do your Slayer for you. But you keep your flunkies from tryin' anything behind my back. Deal?” The boy nodded and Spike released a pleased grin.

“I can’t see her,” whined Dru, her hand going to her temples. “The slayer. I can’t see. It’s dark where she is. Kill her. Kill her, Spike. Kill her for Princess?”

“It’s done,” he hushed her, pulling her hands away from her pretty face. “So, how ‘bout this slayer. Is she tough?”

 

The Bronze was packed that night but Willow had managed to secure a table for her and Buffy. After all, she had promised to help the slayer with her French. She had even been able to convince Xander to come, not that he was speaking to her. Instead, he was on the dance floor, flailing to the music as only he could. Angel was still a no-show, no big surprise there.

“La vache...doit me...touche...de la...jeudi. Was it wrong, should I use the plural?” asked Buffy nervously, glancing up at Willow.

“No, but you said ‘The cow should touch me from Thursday’,” the redhead admitted, barely restraining a laugh.

“Maybe that’s what I was feeling,” she argued pathetically.

“And you said it wrong.”

“Oh, je stink,” Buffy sighed pitifully. Willow smiled and looked back at the dance floor, searching absently for Xander.

“It’s okay, I think it’s just Angel missage. Why don’t we take a break, maybe dance? We can’t leave Xander out there alone, he might injure someone,” she teased as the blonde brightened. Buffy hopped out of her chair, pulling the redhead behind her eagerly.

The girls joined Xander and to the witch’s amazement, he seemed more relaxed and at ease. The slayer was never even aware of the blue eyes watching the trio’s movements with interest. Xander had decided to ignore everything but the music and dancing with Buffy that he didn’t notice it either, but Willow was well aware and snuck a glance over her shoulder, pausing when her eyes met with stormy blue. Their eyes locked and she swore she could see a flare of recognition in those icy depths but she ignored it. Looking away quickly, the redhead tried to ignore the vampire’s presence and focus on her friends.

A shuffling was heard behind her and Buffy immediately perked up when she heard a man’s voice speaking urgently. “Where’s the phone? I need to call the police. There’s some big guy out there trying to bite somebody.”

Her slayer instincts kicking in, Buffy ditched Xander, practically running outside. The brunette turned to Willow, looking almost sad and resigned. She understood, it was all the same. They both vividly remembered this night. The night they met Spike…William the Bloody. 

He went to Buffy’s purse, not fumbling with the items inside at all, instead finding the stake immediately and following Willow out the door. 

The slayer was pummeling a rather tall but unimpressive vampire, but he caught her off guard and stunned her with a punch, causing Willow to flinch at the impact.

“I don’t need to wait for St. Vigeous. You’re mine,” he growled, but Buffy wasn’t fazed. She hit him again, the force of it knocking him back, causing him to panic a bit. “Spike! Gimme a hand!” Buffy glanced behind but she could see no one in the shadows.

“Buffy!” Xander called, tossing her a stake quickly as she dusted the anonymous vampire. As the blonde dusted herself off, clapping could be heard. Willow and Xander didn’t even need to search the darkness, they knew exactly where Spike was hiding. Their gazes finding him immediately, Buffy followed their lead, looking confused as a bleach blonde stood before them.

“Nice work, love,” he teased, a smirk on his handsome face. Willow reached for Xander’s hand, holding it tightly as they looked at the British vampire. They had to remember, this wasn’t Spike with a soul or a chip. This was the Spike that wanted them dead with a fiery passion. He wouldn’t hesitate to drain them in a second and no matter how many years they had spent fighting vamps, he was a Master, a slayer of slayers. They wouldn’t stand a chance against him.

“Who are you?” Buffy demanded, taking a step back toward the redhead and brunette.

“You’ll find out on Saturday,” he told her with a devilish grin, barely granting the other two people a passing glance.

“What happens on Saturday?” she asked, although she was pretty sure she didn’t want to know.

“I kill you…” Willow whispered to herself as the bleach blonde spoke those same words, causing Spike to look up suddenly, studying her curiously. He ran his tongue across his bottom lip; his eyes narrowing as he blatantly stared at the redhead. He felt like something was missing, like he should know who she was, but his mind could only draw blanks. But she was a curious one. She looked so innocent, nothing more than some ordinary teenager. But he could feel the power pouring off of her which gave him pause. He could smell her fear and nervousness, but she fixed him with a hard stare. There was definitely more to this one than meets the eye. 

Willow nearly smacked herself when she echoed Spike’s threat. Only he had heard her, vampire hearing and all. Now he was looking at her with that intense gaze and she wasn’t sure what to make of it. Xander’s eyes darted from Spike to Willow and back anxiously. He didn’t know what had grabbed the blonde vampire’s interest, but he really didn’t like the way Spike was looking at Willow. 

Deciding he was done for the night, Spike cast one final considering glance at the redhead before winking and fading into the night. For Willow, there was only one thought that came to mind. Oh, crap.

Buffy ran back inside the club for her purse as Xander waited for her at the door. Willow was looking around nervously for any sign of Spike, if he was even in the area any longer. The brunette glanced back at his shaky friend, his brow furrowed as he wondered what was bothering her so much. It couldn’t just be the sight of the sarcastic blonde vampire. But what it was he didn’t know. 

“Come on,” said the slayer as she hurried out the door and down the alleyway. “We’ve got to go see Giles. He might have a clue who our new friend is.” Xander reluctantly followed, Willow a step behind him.

As a cold chill swept over the witch once more, she hazarded a glance over her shoulder. “Welcome back Spike,” she muttered before running to catch up with the slayer. 

With a rustling of his leather duster, Spike stepped out of the shadows and under the streetlight, the yellow glow making him look sickly. He watched the small group walk briskly away from the Bronze, the girl’s parting words ringing through his head. So, she knew who he was, made things interesting. At least his stay at the hellmouth wouldn’t be boring. With a sinister smirk on his face he found his last cigarette, lighting it and taking in a lungful of smoke. “Well, hello to you too Red…” 

 

Chapter Nine:

 

“Spike? That’s what the other vampire called him?” murmured Giles with a furrowed brow. “That’s a little unorthodox, isn’t it?” 

“Maybe he’s reformed,” declared Buffy with an exasperated glance to her watcher.

“Perhaps he went by another name in…times past?” the librarian suggested tentatively. 

“Well, whoever he is, we’ll need all the help we can come this Saturday,” interjected Jenny with a sober expression.

“Well, he can’t be any worse than any other creature you’ve faced,” decided Giles with a determined nod to his slayer.

“He’s worse,” warned Angel as he pushed open the doors to the library. Willow couldn’t help but roll her eyes at his entrance. Angel always did have a penchant for the dramatic. She heard Xander stifle an amused snort and knew he felt the same way. “Once he starts something he doesn’t stop until everything in his path is dead.” And he had the nerve to complain that she had a tendency to speak in ominous warnings. Hypocrite. 

“We were at the Bronze before,” Buffy started almost shyly. “Thought you said you might show.”

“You said you weren’t sure if you were going,” he replied with a grin.

“She was being cool, you doof,” interrupted Xander, knowing where this conversation was going and having no desire bear witness to it yet again. “You’ve been dating for…what…two hundred years and you still don’t know what a girl means when she says she’ll show? Sad, deadboy, very sad.” Buffy took a moment to glare at Xander before Giles stepped in.

“Um, we do have slightly more urgent matters to discuss. Angel, do you know if this Spike fellow goes by any other name?” he asked, looking up from his book to see that Angel had vanished, the swinging double doors left in his wake. 

“Try William the Bloody,” suggested Willow quietly. Xander sighed and fell into a chair that was resting by the table. Running a hand over his face, he shook his head. 

“William…the…” Giles muttered to himself as he flipped through pages quickly, bypassing tons of useless information. “Bloody…” His face became ashen as he found the pages he was looking for.

“What is it, Giles?” questioned Buffy as she hopped up on the table, looking eagerly to her watcher. 

“He’s not very old, not even as old as Angel,” he replied, “dear lord.” 

“What?” she demanded, “Don’t keep us in suspense here.” 

“It says William the Bloody, also known as Spike, earned his nickname by torturing his victims with railroad spikes. He has fought two slayers in his lifetime,” he admitted reluctantly, glancing down at his slayer with a nervous frown. “And he’s killed them both.” 

“Oh, fun,” said Buffy, a chill making its way down her back. Willow took a step forward, taking the blonde’s hand into her own and squeezing it reassuringly.

“So what’s the plan, Rupert?” asked Jenny, looking to Buffy with an air of sympathy. “I mean, if St. Vigeous is Saturday, and Spike is the host of their little party, what should we do?”

“I wouldn’t worry about Saturday just yet,” said Willow. 

“And when would be a good time to worry about Saturday, Willow?” Giles barked sharply, fear of losing his slayer causing him to lash out. 

“I’m just saying…” she sighed, looking Xander for help, but his face remained impassive. “Spike doesn’t seem like the type to sit around and twiddle his thumbs. Who’s to say he’ll wait until Saturday to make his move. He seems impulsive, impatient. Trust me, Giles. Call it…a hunch, if you want, but his attack is going to come sooner than Saturday.”

“You’re suggesting I make plans based on a hunch?” he asked incredulously.

“Has she led you astray yet?” interrupted Xander abruptly. Willow turned to face him, a small smile on her face at his automatic defense of her. “You may doubt our abilities to…predict things, but never once have we led you down the wrong path. Know that we both care about Buffy, a lot. Neither one of us would do or say anything to jeopardize her safety. So if Willow tells you that you need to forget about Saturday, then do it.”

The librarian was silent for a moment before nodding, removing his glasses and cleaning them furiously. 

“So what do you suggest we do?” the eldest asked Willow, a tinge of bitterness in his voice at the thought of asking a child for help.

“Just…don’t worry about Saturday,” she replied. “Right now, all Buffy needs to focus on is Parent-Teacher night tomorrow,” she added with a glance to the blonde. 

“And keeping my mom away from Principal Snyder tomorrow night,” the slayer added with a grimace.

“Way to prioritize Buff,” teased Willow. The redhead let go of the slayer’s hand and grabbed her purse, Xander taking his cue from her and standing. “I think we’re gonna head out, just do me a favor Buffy,” she pleaded gently. “Tomorrow night, just…be on alert.” 

Buffy smiled brightly but Willow could see the seriousness in her eyes as she nodded her agreement. “Night guys,” the witch called out as she and Xander headed out the double doors. 

 

“Miss Edith speaks out of turn,” muttered Drusilla with a pout as turned her precious doll around, eyes facing the wall of the factory. “She's a bad example, and will have no cakes today. Shhhh.”

“Pet, are you going to eat something?” wondered Spike as he closed the bedroom door behind him, blocking all the chanting and murmurs coming from the rest of the factory. He was still worried about her; she looked sickly even for a vampire. But at least she was up and about, entertaining herself with her dolls.

“I'm not hungry,” she mumbled stubbornly. “I miss Prague,” she complained with a frown.

“You nearly died in Prague,” he reminded her sharply. “Idiot mob. This is the place for us. The hellmouth will restore you,” he declared with a grin, “put color in your cheeks, metaphorically speaking, and in a few weeks' time...”

“The stars will align, and smile down on us,” she cooed, her eyes clouding over as she began to slowly sway to music only she could hear as Spike looked on with a slight smile.

“And then, God, this town will burn,” he chuckled eagerly. It would be like old times, death and destruction. The only thing missing was Angelus, but their sire hadn’t been in the picture for a long time. 

“A pretty fire!” she giggled as he took her hand and led her to the bed that dominated the room, encouraging her to rest.

“They're preparing,” Drusilla informed him softly, looking up at him as he took a seat on the side of the bed. She looked up at him adoringly. He was all she had, her protector, her brother, her Spike. 

“St. Vigeous is coming up. Should be a party,” he shrugged. He glanced over his shoulder to the tied up girl in the corner, shaking and scared. She wasn’t anything special, just some high school kid he found outside the Bronze but he thought she would make a good meal for Dru. He couldn’t even remember her name…Sharon, no, Sheila, that was it. 

“You should go up with them and cleanse,” suggested the lithe brunette.

“Dru...” he groaned unhappily. He never liked these stupid rituals vampires insisted on performing. 

“The boy doesn't trust you,” she told him with a steady gaze. “They follow him.” Her attention wavered, as it did on occasion. Her fingers played with the ends of her hair, staring at them in fascination. “I think sometimes that all my hair will fall out and I'll be bald,” she declared, her eyes distant.

“Never happen,” he promised with a sad smile. “Alright. I'll go up and get chanty with the fellas,” he compromised, “but *you* got to do me one favor.” Pushing himself off the mattress, he strode to the bound figure of Sheila, grinning as Dru stood and stalked closer to them. “Eat something,” he ordered, pushing the girl toward Drusilla who caught her easily. 

“You see, Miss Edith?” taunted Dru as Spike left the room deciding only to spend a few minutes ‘bonding’ with the rest of the vamps before heading out into town once more, shutting the door firmly behind him. “If you'd been good you could watch with the rest.”

 

Willow sighed as she and Xander cut through the park on their way back to her house. He was gazing at the stars above, looking as if he was searching for answers to questions he couldn’t name. She knew he was tense, as was she, especially with the reappearance of Spike. But she was tired of seeing her best friend so down without knowing what she could do to help him, she needed a distraction. 

“Hey Xan,” she broke into his thoughts softly. “Do you think you can make it back on your own?”

“I’ve got my stakes and holy water,” he replied with a shrug. “Shouldn’t be a problem. Why? What have you got planned?” 

“I’m gonna do a quick patrol, release some of this pent up energy, you know?” she told him, hoping he wouldn’t mind. He nodded and smiled a little to assure her he was fine with it. 

“Just be careful, will you?” he demanded gently. “I need my Wills, okay?”

“You got it,” she smiled at him, kissing him on the cheek as pushing him ahead of her. She watched him walk away, shaking herself as he disappeared into the night. She did a quick survey of the area, not seeing anything out of the ordinary, but looks could be deceiving. 

Taking a deep breath, the redhead closed her eyes, letting the magic it had taken her so long to learn to control take over, enhancing her senses. Her eyelids fluttered open, her normally green eyes had bled into black. Two things grabbed her attention immediately. Vampires, one coming from her right, close but not visible just yet. The other gave off a stronger aura, possibly a Master, coming from her left. Unlike the other, he wasn’t on the move, instead, he lingered in the distance. She was filled with distinct feeling that he was watching her, studying her. The other one was probably hungry.

Spinning abruptly, she shot one hand out, her voice strong, yet not exactly her own as she saw the minion running toward her, its eyes gleaming. “Thicken!” she commanded, causing the vampire to bounce off the invisible barrier with a furious growl. 

The redhead strolled confidently toward the snarling vamp, looking him over with a shake of her head as her stake slid out of its hiding place up her sleeve.

“You know, they don’t make vampires like they used to,” she told him conversationally. “Fledglings these days, never much of a challenge,” Willow sighed. With a wave of her hand the barrier fell and the young vamp stumbled before catching himself. She just looked on as the brunette found his balance and lunged forward, eyes on her throat. 

His growl turned into a shocked gasp when he felt the deadly piece of wood enter his chest, piercing his heart. Willow pulled back, watching as the burly vampire disintegrated before her eyes. 

“Pathetic,” she mumbled, disappointed that he didn’t put up much of a fight. 

“Right you are,” declared a voice from behind her, the familiar British accent causing her to stiffen. “It’s a shame, really. Minions are so bloody thick nowadays.” 

She turned slowly on her heel, keeping her guard up as Spike stepped onto the pathway, boots thudding on the ground harshly in the silence, his form practically glowing in the moonlight. He was dressed in his standard red and black, duster and all. She never had the opportunity to really look at him before. Sure there were the times he kidnapped her or tried to bite her, and all those times after he got his chip and then the soul, but he was different then. When he first arrived in Sunnydale, he seemed unbeatable, radiating danger and evil. At least that was one thing that hadn’t changed. 

“But then again, he was one of *my* minions,” he continued with a smirk, “so I suppose I should be a bit pissed you staked him, eh?” She had to fight her instincts to retreat as he took a step forward, still a few feet away. The blonde cocked his head to the side, observing her with a speculative grin. “Why so scared, little Red? Seemed like you were looking for a challenge and I’ve been told I’m quite the challenge,” he teased, biting his lip rakishly. 

“I’m not scared of you,” she countered, arms crossed over her chest. But she knew he could tell she was lying, her hands were shaking and he could practically smell her fear. He merely smiled in amusement. 

“Whatever you say Red,” he chuckled. He looked her up and down, eyes narrowing. 

“Who are you? You’re not a slayer,” he announced with a raised eyebrow. “So I’m wondering what a little girl like you is doing out here, all alone, in the middle of the night, lookin’ for vamps to dust. And all that power, it’s just pouring off you, love. How did a teenager like you become so powerful?”

She sighed, annoyed that he seemingly decided to make conversation. She wasn’t in the mood for this. “It’s none of your business. But I am powerful enough to defend myself against the likes of you, consider that fair warning. Besides, shouldn’t you be heading back to Drusilla, Spike? She is the love of your unlife after all.”

He became unnaturally still at the mention of Dru. “Now that is none of *your* business,” he warned lowly. “You know me? Dru? How? We haven’t met before tonight. I’d definitely remember you,” he purred. She opened and closed her mouth but no words came out. “Answer before I lose my patience, pet,” he demanded, his eyes cold. 

“Y-You’re Spike,” she replied, scrambling for a reasonable explanation. “William the Bloody, I’ve uh, read about you. I sorta snuck a peek at the Watcher’s Diaries.” She felt a little more at ease when he stopped glaring at her, now looking at her curiously.

“Naughty girl. You’ve read about me, eh? So, what have they written? Anything interesting?” he wondered, enjoying the opportunity to find out what all those poncy watchers had written about him. He always had been an arrogant demon. He supposed he got it from Angelus.

“Y-You were sired by-y Drusilla, um, Angelus is your grandsire,” she rattled on, never noticing the knot forming in his brow or the confusion strewn across his handsome face. “Uh, you killed two slayers. One during the Boxer Rebellion and another in New York, in the 70’s I think. One of the most feared vampires in history. You’re in love with Drusilla, who’s insane. Oh, and you were part of the legendary Scourge of Europe…”

“Seem to have your facts a bit mixed up, love,” he interrupted, a considering gleam in his eye. He wondered how those watchers got everything so wrong.

“No! No, I don’t have my facts mixed up!” she declared, not caring that she was raising her voice to a Master vampire. “Angelus sired Drusilla after he drove her crazy. And then she begged him to let her turn someone, a childe of her own. That was you. That’s the truth.” 

“No, it’s not,” he growled, reminding her to watch her tone. “My sire is *Angelus*,” he informed her, “And I’m not in love with Drusilla, the woman’s a bloody loon in case you didn’t know.”

“What?” she whispered, her hands tightening their grip on her stake as she backed away from his still form, her head shaking in the negative. “No, no, no,” she repeated, almost laughing hysterically. “You’re lying. Tell me you’re lying,” she pleaded, but he merely looked on with one raised eyebrow, obviously surprised by her outburst. “Oh no, *no*. That’s not right, not right at all,” she muttered, glancing up into his blue eyes before they darted away from him. He had to be lying to her. Spike had always been in love with his sire, with Drusilla. She didn’t understand what he was saying, it couldn’t be true. The spell couldn’t change the past, only return them to it and yet Spike, his life, was so different. This was bad, so very bad. She needed to find Xander and needed to find him now. 

Spike watched, hands in his pockets as she stumbled away from him, lost in her own little world. He sighed in boredom. He had come here looking for a snack when he caught her scent on the breeze. She had caught his attention earlier at the Bronze and he was interested to know who she was, why she seemed so familiar to him. He still had no clue who she was or why she was associated with the slayer and now it looked like he wouldn’t be getting any answers. She was too busy talking to herself to even acknowledge him. He swore inwardly, what was it about him and crazy women? They just seemed to gravitate to him.

“I’ve gotta go,” she decided numbly before turning and running out of the park in the direction of the nearest residential area, not giving him time to argue.

With a growl of displeasure he turned, his duster billowing behind him as he stalked back to the factory. “Bloody women…”


	4. Chapters 10-11

Chapter Ten:

 

“Xander!” Willow shouted as she bounded through her front door. When there was still no sign of him she resorted to her ‘mother’ voice. “Alexander Lavelle Harris, downstairs now!”

The brunette stumbled down the stairs and she felt a little bad for yelling like that. He had obviously been asleep but this was important.

“I’m awake! I’m awake!” he assured her as he fell onto the sofa, face down. “What’s the big deal Wills?” he mumbled into the couch cushions. 

“Drusilla isn’t Spike’s sire!” she blurted out, moving to kneel beside the couch and shaking his shoulder until he moved to look at her. 

“Huh?” he grumbled, rubbing his eyes. She pulled him into a seated position and cupped his face in the palms of her hands.

“Listen to me, this is *very* important,” she demanded. He immediately sat up straighter, seeing her famous resolve face. “He said Angelus was his sire. Hell, he said he wasn’t in love with Dru!” she screeched.

“Wait,” he stopped her, “when did you have this enlightening conversation with Junior?”

“Tonight, I dusted a vamp, he was there, we got to talking,” she replied, deciding the details weren’t important. “That isn’t the point. Drusilla *was* Spike’s sire. And we all know he was in love with her, hello, drunken love spell!”

“Yeah, what’s your point?” he asked sleepily.

“Are you brain dead?! He said *Angelus* was his sire, notice anything wrong with that statement?!” It took him a minute to process everything, but when he did it was almost a physical shock. 

“Are you serious?” he muttered. “That can’t be. It’s not possible, I mean, it’s just not.”

“You’re preaching to the choir,” she assured him, sinking into the sofa. “Something happened, went wrong. I don’t know what, but something did. Nothing should have changed, Xan. I didn’t mess up the spell, I know I didn’t,” she rambled nervously. 

“Is he…different?” he wondered, not sure exactly what he was asking.

“No,” she denied with a frown. “Not that I really know what he was like back then. But everything else, the attitude, the clothes, he still killed those two slayers. Everything else is the same. But he told me Angelus was his sire. He told me he didn’t love Dru. What the hell happened?” she asked herself, her voice barely a whisper.

“What do we do?” he questioned tentatively, wrapping an arm around her shoulder for support. They were both freaked out by this. 

“I need to have a look at the Watcher’s Diaries,” the redhead declared. “Find out if anything else changed that we don’t know about. I should take a look at Angel’s past too, who knows what may have changed with him. But it will be difficult getting them past Giles.”

“What about tomorrow? It’s Parent-Teacher night. Spike’s gonna attack then,” he reminded her. 

“You were able to find Angel last time, right? He helped ‘save the day’?” At the brunette’s nod she sighed. “You stay with Giles and Jenny during the day, help them research and get ready for that night. Um, I’m gonna try and swipe his books, do some reading of my own. I want you to keep an eye on them, watch out for Buffy, for any sign of Spike as of sundown. I’ll be busy reading, but when the sun goes down, I’ll get Angel and bring him to the school. We’ll deal with Spike when we get there. That sound about right?”

“As good a plan as any,” he shrugged.

“What do we do now?” she asked weakly.

“We go to sleep,” he told her, softly but firmly. “There’s nothing we can do right now. But we need to be ready for tomorrow. Go to bed.” She nodded and let him pull her up, leading her to her room and leaving her to change and climb into bed as he slipped into the guest room. His mind was running a mile a minute. Something went wrong, but he feared it would be impossible to figure out what happened.

 

“For three nights the unholy ones scourge themselves into a fury, um, culminating in a savage attack on the night of St. Vigeous,” Giles muttered to himself as Jenny, Willow, Xander, and Cordelia each worked on making stakes. Buffy meanwhile was busy chopping up vegetables for that night.

“Does anybody remember when Saturday night meant date night?” wondered Xander.

“You sure don't,” replied Cordy snidely. He glared at her then returned to his work.

“Ooo! Parents start arriving in an hour,” announced Buffy as she glanced at the clock above the doors. “Okay, so, um, banners are in place, the lounge is comfy... What am I forgetting?”

“Punch?” Willow remembered.

“Punch. I need, I need punch!” the slayer exclaimed frantically. Things had to be perfect tonight, nothing could go wrong. She dropped the knife she had been using and walked away from the table.

“My fingers are cramping,” whined Cordy, shaking her hand with a pout. “How long have I been doing this?”

“Three minutes,” answered Xander dryly, rolling his eyes.

“So, can I go now? She doesn't need this many stakes. I mean, if this guy Spike is as mean as you all said, it should be over pretty quickly,” she shrugged. Upon seeing Buffy’s incredulous glance, she hastened to clarify. “We're still all rooting for you on Saturday. I'd be there for you myself if I didn't have a leg wax.”

Buffy faked a smile and sighed. “You guys hold down the fort. I'm punch bound.” Everyone nodded absently as the blonde jogged out the door. 

Willow looked around the room, seeing everyone involved in what they were doing. They were all whittling stakes with the exception of Giles. Clearing her throat softly, Willow caught Xander’s attention, nodding her head in the watcher’s direction. He stopped his work and moved to the station Buffy had set up to prepare the food. 

Picking at the various vegetables and finger foods on the platter, he mad enough noise to attract the watcher’s attention.

“Xander,” sighed the librarian, putting his book down on the table. “No handling the food. We need that for the parents,” he chastised him as if he were a five year old. 

“But I’m hungry,” he whined, annoyed by his own voice. He ignored the older man’s glare and started grabbing some snacks for himself. Luck was on his side as Cordelia decided she was hungry and joined in, causing the librarian to abandon his post at the table to reprimand them.

Seeing her opportunity as Xander continued to bicker with Giles and Jenny was busy, the redhead quietly grabbed her book bag. Glancing around furtively, she grabbed the two books Giles had set out, placing them into her backpack and slipping out the doors of the library, as quiet as a mouse. 

When he heard the muffled ‘thump’ of the door swinging shut, Xander held up his hands and backed away from the irritated librarian, returning to his seat without a scene. Giles huffed a bit but eventually retired to his office. These children were going to be the death of him, he just knew it.

 

Willow left Sunnydale high, deciding to go home to start her research. She didn’t want there to be any chance of Giles figuring out she had taken his books and demand them back. She needed them more than he did. She would have just found a place in the park to read, it was still light out, if only for another half hour, but she knew she could become easily distracted. It doesn’t pay to be distracted in Sunnydale, especially after dark. 

With a glance at the clock above her mantle, she saw that it was six-thirty. She wouldn’t be able to do all the research she wanted to, but right all she wanted to do was find the truth. She had to find out if Spike was really sired by Angelus. And although she knew it was pointless, she hoped the bleach blonde was lying to her. 

It didn’t take long to become absorbed in her reading. The redhead’s heart sank when her fears were confirmed. Spike was the childe of Angelus. And even more disturbing, the blonde had never been in love with Drusilla. By all accounts, he protected her with his life, cared for her, but he wasn’t in love with her. This was bad. Very bad. 

She had even started flipping through the many pages written about Angelus, but everything else was the same. That was what she couldn’t figure out. Why did the identity of Spike’s sire change, why did his feelings for Dru disappear, but nothing else? Angel’s life progressed as she had remembered, it was the same with Spike; only those two details were different. It just didn’t make any sense.

Sighing in frustration, she slammed the book closed. She had done all the reading she could and yet things still didn’t make any sense. As if she was just now aware of her surroundings, she noticed how dark her living room was, the only light coming from her lamp on the end table. She dared to look at the clock, dismayed when she saw the time. It was eight-thirty. She was an hour late. Crap.

Pushing all the books and papers off of her, she searched frantically for her keys. Once she found them she scrambled out the front door, breaking out into a dead run to Angel’s apartment. She just hoped she wasn’t too late.

 

“You're starting to look a little slagged. What, are you just skipping foundation entirely now?” wondered Cordelia as she strode up to Buffy who was keeping herself busy pouring the lemonade. Things had been going well so far. Parent-Teacher night had been going on for an hour now and Xander had managed to successful keep her mother from running in to any of her teachers. Things were looking up.

“Cordelia,” Buffy sighed in exhaustion. “I have at least three lives to contend with, none of which really mesh. It's kind of like oil and water and a... third unmeshable thing.”

“Yeah, and I can see the oil,” remarked Cordy with a small smile. “Is that your mom?” she inquired, looking past the slayer. “Now that is a woman that knows how to moisturize. Did it, like, skip a generation?”

“Well, I believe that I have seen every classroom on campus, and just as I get there all your teachers miraculously have stepped out,” declared Mrs. Summers as she and Xander joined the twosome. Buffy smiled brightly at her mother, but it quickly faded when she caught sight of Principal Snyder.

“Oh!” she exclaimed, doing her best to distract her mom. “Oh. Um, but you haven't seen the boiler room yet. And, you know, that's really interesting, what with the boiler being in the room and all.” Joyce gave her a strange look as she felt someone approach them behind her. 

“Hi,” she greeted the small man beside her, extending her hand which was ignored. “I'm Joyce Summers. I'm Buffy's mother.”

“Principal Snyder,” the little troll informed her with a look of disdain. “I'm afraid we need to talk. My office is down here.” Joyce glanced at her daughter with a frown before following him away from the lounge.

“He didn't look very happy,” mumbled Buffy, shuffling her feet. Xander smiled sympathetically.

“When they're done talking...” started Cordelia with a sly grin.

“What?” Buffy asked hesitantly.

“My guess? Tenth high school reunion, you'll still be grounded,” she told her happily, smiling at Buffy’s pout.

About fifteen minutes went by as Buffy waited for her mother to return. She really wasn’t looking forward to the lecture that awaited her. She had an excuse for all the fights and the class cutting, but she really didn’t think her mom would take ‘I’m a vampire slayer’ as a legitimate reason, even if it was the truth.

Straightening as she saw her mother approach, a scowl on her face which was not at all attractive. Buffy swallowed nervously and looked at her feet.

“In the car, now,” Joyce ordered gruffly, Buffy merely nodding and following the older woman out of the lounge. The few people, teachers mostly along with Cordy and Xander, still lingering in the lounge began to follow their lead and started down the hall, Snyder moving off to the side to flip off the lights. 

She hadn’t even made it halfway down the hall before a loud crash was heard, glass shattering violently and spraying onto the floor. Buffy jumped and turned sharply, her face paling when she saw an army of vampires pour inside the school through the broken picture window. And they were led by Spike. Looked like Willow had been right, Spike was an impatient one.

He took a step forward, his game face on as he focused on the slayer. “What can I say?” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I couldn’t wait.”

 

Chapter Eleven:

 

She was breathing heavily. Her lungs felt as if they were on fire as her feet pounded harshly against the unforgiving pavement. She was late, that was all she could think, she was late and she needed to find Angel. 

Willow slowed down as she approached his building, the area around it dark and ominous. Stopping to take a few deep breaths, she straightened her back and jogged inside, tripping down the stairs to his basement apartment. Her fist banged against the wood of his door, the sound echoing through the vacant hall. When he didn’t answer immediately she knocked even harder, yelling out his name. 

“Willow?” the dark vampire breathed as the door swung open, his expression a mixture of confusion, anxiety, and annoyance at being disturbed. She didn’t let that bother her; he was probably only brooding anyway. 

“The school, we have to get to the school,” she told him in between breaths. 

“Why?” he asked warily. He didn’t really trust her, even though she had been nothing but helpful. There was just something about her and that boy that rubbed him the wrong way. 

“Spike,” she said simply. His eyes became cold suddenly and his hands clenched into fists at his side. Good, she got his attention.

Stopping only to grab his coat, Angel pushed her out of his doorway, locking his apartment hastily behind him as he led the way to Sunnydale High. Willow trailed behind him, straining to match his stride, but he never slowed. It almost appeared as if he had forgotten she was there entirely, which was possible. When it came to Buffy’s safety, Angel was one focused demon. Nothing and no one else mattered to him except the slayer. It was kind of sweet. 

Angel was muttering something under his breath as they quickly made their way down the streets of the hellmouth. She couldn’t discern his exact words, but she had caught some of what he had said and figured he was simply mumbling a long string of curses. Well, well, wasn’t he in a bad mood. Normally she would have laughed at the glower he fixed the street with, but now wasn’t the time. They needed to get to the high school and fast, before it was too late. 

 

Spike didn’t wait a beat, still smirking as he took in the shocked look on the slayer’s face as he left his position at the front of the pack and dove for her, never seeing the chair she threw his way. He growled angrily and tossed the worthless piece of plastic out of his way, not caring if it hit any of his minions.

By then the blonde was on the run, a group of people following her, alternately silent in fear, or screaming because of it. His arm lashed out, grabbing the collar of a man who unfortunately happened to be on the slow side. The teacher, a darker man, middle-aged and terror stricken, twisted in his grip but could not get away.

“Nobody gets out!” commanded Spike authoritatively. “Especially the girl!” he reminded the dimwitted fledges as they spread out the find the scattered humans.

Buffy, her mother a step behind her, paused when she spotted a vampire at one end of the hall and turned swiftly, leading the small pack of teachers down the other side.

“Everybody this way! Come on, C’mon!” the slayer shouted as she waved them all ahead of her, leaving her to fight off the two vamps that were heading her way. Xander and Cordelia stumbled into the hallway, almost following Buffy before Cordy was grabbed from behind. Acting on instinct, Xander grabbed a nearby bust and slammed it into the head of the vampire who shrieked and released the girl. Gripping her shaking hand in his, he pulled her into the janitor’s closet and shut the door, using anything he could find the brace the flimsy piece of wood.

“What the hell…?” exclaimed Giles as he and Jenny peeked their heads out the library, amazed to see Buffy and company racing down the hall.

“Spike and his army!” she warned, “Look out!” Jenny turned her head and screamed when she saw a vampire closing in on them.

“Back!” ordered Giles, pushing Ms. Calendar into the library and immediately reaching for heavy items to place against the doors.

“In here now!” demanded Buffy as she hurriedly ushered her group into a classroom, a science lab by the looks of it. She closed both doors on either side of the room quickly and a couple of the men moved to push filing cabinets and the like in front of them. They all froze when they heard a noise followed by the lights abruptly going out. 

 

“We cut the power,” informed a minion as he jogged up to Spike who was still in the lounge, holding onto the trembling older man. “Nobody got out.”

“And the slayer?” the Brit asked briskly.

“She either went that way,” he replied nervously, glancing to the right, “Or that way,” he added, looking to the left. “There were two others,” he offered as an excuse.

“You don’t know!” Spike growled furiously, releasing the man he was holding and shoving him away slightly. With a sigh of exasperation he turned his gaze to the teacher with a considering expression. “I’m a veal kind of guy,” he told the man conversationally. “You’re too old to eat.” His hands moved as fast as lightening, snapping his neck and letting the body fall with a thud. “But not to kill.” He took a deep breath, tilting his head to the side and glancing at the nameless minion. “I feel better.”

 

“You can’t go outside! They’ll kill you!” Buffy tried to reason with the frightened teachers but Snyder would have none of it. He had a major Napoleon complex which was fast becoming annoying.

“You don’t tell me. I tell you!” he reminded her firmly. She didn’t listen, pulling him to look her in the eye, drawing the attention of everyone in the room.

“They will kill everyone in this room,” she told him darkly. “No one gets out, nobody comes in until *I* say so. Do you hear me?”

“Who do you think you are?” he asked incredulously. 

“I’m the one who knows how to stop them.” After saying that without any hint of pride she studied the room, looking for a way out that wouldn’t attract suspicion. Taking a determined step away from the little man, she looked up to the ceiling.

“Buffy, are you crazy?” Joyce asked in a hushed whisper. “Look, I know you’ve been accused of fighting and other things, but those guys are serious. You can’t go out there.”

“I know,” her daughter replied grimly. “That’s why I’m going up there.” She grabbed a stool, climbing up and pushing away the tile on the drop ceiling. “Don’t worry mom.”

Willow spied the high school in the distance and began running once more, leaving Angel to fend for himself. They may need his help to even up the odds a bit, but that didn’t mean they were attached at the hip. 

She knew once she got closer that Spike had arrived. How long he had been there she wasn’t sure but there were two minions, one woman, one man, stationed outside the front doors. Spinning on her heel, she found Angel’s form in the darkness.

“Get down and cover yourself,” she hissed as he neared. 

“What?” he countered with a confused glare. 

“Just hide, alright? I don’t have time for this!” He grumbled for a second but complied, dropping to the ground and covering his face and any exposed skin as best he could with his coat. 

“Phoebus Illumines!” she called out, her hand outstretched toward the twosome as a fantastic burst of light exploded from her palm, as brilliant as the rays of the sun. The vampires hissed and screeched in pain as their flesh burned. They writhed in agony before crumbling into two separate piles of dust by the entrance.

“What the *hell* was that?!” snarled Angel as he jumped up. The flash of light had caught him off guard and he grimaced as he clutched his hand to his chest, the skin slightly singed. He didn’t cover himself as well as he should have. 

“That was a little sun spell,” she replied with a smirk. “It was nothing, really.” She grinned at his astonishment and turned suddenly, passing him swiftly and slipping through the front doors, into the darkened halls of Sunnydale High. He heaved a great sigh as he heard a growl in the distance. Her little show caught the attention of a few other vampires guarding the perimeter, now he was left to deal with them. Yay. Deciding he could use a good brawl, Angel let his human façade slip away and tore off running full bore toward the fledglings. They would pray for mercy when he was done with them. 

 

“Sla-yer!” called out Spike as he sauntered down the hall. His very being seemed at one with the dark, his movements sleek, predatory, even graceful with a hint of smugness. He was sure he had the slayer cornered. That bitch wasn’t getting past him. “Here kitty, kitty,” he taunted, biting his lip in anticipation. “I find one of your friends first, I’m gonna suck ‘em dry.” His voice became low, as if he was imagining the pleasure he would receive from such act. “And use their bones to bash your head in…”

His footfall became louder and louder as Xander and Cordelia crouched in the closet, the girl praying not so silently, her eyes darting to the floor then to the door and back.

“Are you getting a word picture here?” His voice seemed to come from right in front of them and Cordelia shivered. Xander had to admit, he was scared, but not nearly as much as Cordy was.

“Oh God, oh God,” she murmured, resisting the urge to rock back and forth. 

“Quiet!” Xander demanded softly, clapping a hand over her mouth and pulling her farther back into the closet. 

The blonde vampire raised his booted foot to kick in the closet door when a voice stopped him.

“Spike!” shouted his closest minion. “Listen!” The sounds were muffled, but distinctly angry, pained. There were screams, from what he could tell they were coming from the street side entrance of the school. He was standing in a hallway to the right of the main corridor. The main hall was illuminated by moonlight from the windows in the front. There was a sudden bright flash and Spike cringed, taking an involuntary step back and covering his sensitive eyes with his leather clad arm. 

“Bloody hell!” snarled Spike, unsure what had just happened. The minion behind him seemed nervous, jumpy, and took a step back as well, getting closer and closer to the exit.

They heard the doors open and shut with a quiet click. The blonde smiled in the dark. Whoever was there was actually trying to sneak up on him. After a show like that, there wasn’t a chance in hell that was going to happen. He crept silently down the hall, his back close to the lockers that lined the walls. He approached the lounge as he listened intently to the soft footsteps that the normal ear wouldn’t have heard. 

Rounding the corner, his body was hidden by a bookcase. He chanced a look around the bookcase, his grin widening when he spotted a familiar redhead tiptoeing down the hall, glancing around nervously for any sign of him. 

A deep, boastful chuckle made its way from his throat, the noise echoing in the silence, causing the girl to halt her steps, her eyes darting around the room. Taking an unneeded breath, Spike pushed himself away from the wall, stepping into the moonlight hallway. Her eyes widened at the sight of his profile. The almost head to toe leather duster gave him a dangerous mystique and she had to fight the urge to run screaming. She may be a bad ass Wicca, but he was a Master vampire with more than a hundred years of experience in killing people like her, without the encumbrance of a chip or a soul. His hands were in his pockets, a smirk on his face as he turned to face her, studying her in game face. 

“Well, well, my night is looking up,” he rumbled with a chuckle. “You responsible for the little light show out there?” he wondered with a quirked eyebrow. He smiled slightly when she straightened her shoulders and looked him square in the eye. 

“Yeah, would you like a demonstration?” she asked, her voice sickly sweet. 

“No thanks love,” he declined swiftly. “But thanks, for the offer.” He peeked around her, frowning when he failed to spot any of his men around the perimeter. “Dust another one of my boys, eh? You know, keep this up Red and I might have to punish you…”

“Took out two of them actually,” she grinned. “Really Spike, you need better help.”

“Don’t I know it,” he snorted, eyeing her up and down. “So, come to play Little Red?” he drawled, tracing his tongue across his bottom lip. 

“Not really,” she replied, standing her ground when he took a step forward. “I just came here to make sure my friends were okay.”

“Your…friends?” he asked with a look of disbelief.

“Yeah, Buffy, Xander, Cordy,” she listed. “Okay, maybe not Cordy cause, can you say bitch?” she amended, bringing a reluctant grin to his face. Willow broke her gaze with him for only a second, eyes glancing at the ceiling as she heard the faint shuffle of Buffy crawling around above them. That was good; all she had to do was keep him distracted. 

“I must say I’m a little disappointed,” the redhead told him, saying the first thing that came to her. 

“Really now?” he countered with a sly smirk.

“St. Vigeous is in two days,” she explained with a dramatic sigh. “And yet, here you are, compromising your numbers because you’re too impatient to wait to attack the slayer. I mean, I read such interesting things about you.” She took a brave step toward him. “They said you were cunning, smart, resourceful. Very high opinions of you,” she commented. “But as far as I can tell, you’re impulsive, rash, impatient, not any of those things they wrote about. You just don’t seem like the ‘Slayer of slayers’ that I read about.”

“Is that so?” he growled, his good mood giving way to irritation. 

“I’m just saying you shouldn’t be here, Spike. It wasn’t smart--”her sentence was interrupted as a loud crash sounded behind the vampire. Spike spun quickly and Willow smiled in relief at the sight of Buffy, dusty but unharmed, standing on the other side of the bleach blonde. 

“She’s right, Spike. You shouldn’t have come here,” the slayer taunted.

“No, I’ve messed up all your doilies and stuff,” he remarked, regaining his earlier smugness as evident by his sarcasm. “But I just got so bored,” he smirked. “I’ll tell you what, as a personal favor, from me to you, I’ll make it quick. It won’t hurt a bit.”

“No, Spike,” drawled Buffy with a grin. “It’s gonna hurt a lot…” Seeing the slayer lunge at Spike, Willow took the opportunity to run past them, heading to the library. She pushed the doors open a bit, sticking her head inside to see a crowd of people, Giles included milling about nervously.

“Giles!” she shouted as he turned to her. “Go! Get them out now!” He reacted immediately, herding out the teachers and parents as quickly as possible out the stacks. She was tempted to follow but remembered that Cordy and Xander were probably hiding in that closet and she didn’t have the heart to leave Xander in there all night with Cordy. He’d probably kill her the second he saw her next. 

“Come on!” she whispered as she knocked at the closet door. “Xander it’s me! The hall is clear, get out here now!” There was a lot of moving around inside but soon enough the door opened and Xander looked at her, happy to see she was fine. “We’ve got to get out of here.”

The noises from the fight in the other room could still be heard as Willow ushered Xander and Cordelia to the exit in the other direction. 

“Is she going to be okay?” asked Xander when he heard a loud crash and Buffy groan in pain. Willow looked back, seeing Spike striding arrogantly toward a downed Buffy. She was about to tell Xander that they should go help when she heard a familiar roar of rage. The cavalry had arrived. 

“She’ll be fine,” she assured him but when he looked doubtful, she explained. “Angel’s here. She’ll be fine.” He nodded and they scrambled out of the school as fast they could, still looking around for any stray minions as they went to meet up with Giles and the teachers. 

 

Spike stood over the slayer, a satisfied grin crossing his handsome face. Two-by-four in hand, he snarled and lifted it above his head, reveling in the frightened look she shot his way before he went to bring it down in a crushing blow to her head. He didn’t succeed. 

Instead, he distantly heard a furious growl and was tackled from the side by a lumbering figure. With a grunt he fell to the ground, the heavy body still on top of him. Spike pushed harshly on the man above him, the body flying a few feet away as Spike jumped to his feet. 

He froze when he saw who had taken him down. The tall, glowering brunette stood, not so gingerly pulling Buffy up from the floor and pushing her behind him.

“Angelus?” the bleach blonde whispered in amazement. There was his sire, who he hadn’t seen in decades, and he was…protecting a slayer? Angel growled warningly, poised to fight if he had to. Seeing that he was outnumbered, plus he was just really confused and pissed, Spike took one last glance at his sire before backing away slowly and jumping out the broken window he had stormed through earlier. 

He’d say this for the hellmouth, it was full of surprises.


	5. Chapters 12-17

Chapter Twelve:

 

Buffy groaned as she turned on her side, reaching out with her arm to shut off her ringing alarm. It couldn’t be morning already, she felt like she had just gone to bed. The previous night had left her aching and sore, that’s what getting pummeled by a two-by-four does to a person. 

“Stupid Spike,” she grumbled as she sat up, rubbing her eyes. “What kind of a name is Spike anyway? Bleached blonde moron…” she complained as she slid out of bed. She was just relieved that her mother seemed blissfully unaware that the men that stormed the school last night weren’t men at all. She really didn’t want to have to explain the existence of vampires to her; that was Giles’ area of expertise. 

Padding her way down the hall and into the bathroom, the slayer turned on the shower and brushed her teeth as she waited for the water to warm up. Normally she would be happy that it was Friday, but she could barely move, so in her humble opinion, this Friday sucked. Oh well, not like she had a choice but to hold her head high and stick with it. The day would be over soon enough. Besides, maybe Giles would feel bad for her and let her out of slaying tonight. She only hoped Spike was having as miserable of a morning as she was.

 

Drusilla shuffled dazedly out of the back of the factory, worry etched across her face when she saw Spike’s ragged form hovering in the largest room in the entire factory. The Anointed One was there, seated at the other side of the room with two others who didn’t look very happy. 

Sun was visible through the high windows but it didn’t filter down to the ground floor so the vampires were safe from its deadly rays. Spike turned toward her when he heard her moving about, forcing a smile onto his face.

“Spike, did she hurt you?” she questioned with a sympathetic pout.

“It was close, but...” he shrugged, downplaying his defeat.

“Oh, come here,” she cooed, bringing him close and letting him rest his head on her shoulder, stroking his hair gently.

“A Slayer with family and friends,” he grimaced. “That sure as hell wasn't in the brochure.”

“You'll kill her, and then we'll have a nice celebration,” said Dru with a small smile; sure that he would do just that. Spike had never let her down before. He would kill the slayer and make her better, just like he promised.

“Yeah, a party,” he agreed softly.

She grinned dreamily as he pulled away, “Yeah. With streamers...and songs.”

“How's the annoying one?” he wondered, glancing over at the boy and sneering.

“He doesn't wanna play,” whined Drusilla with a frown.

“Figures,” Spike snorted. “Well, suppose I better go make nice.” He stepped away from her and took tentative steps toward the Colin, bowing his head and kneeling down on one knee.

“You failed,” announced the boy, no emotion in his young voice.

“I, uh... I offer penance,” he forced himself to say, choking on every word.

“Penance?!” shouted an enraged minion. “You should lay down your life! Our numbers are depleted, the feast of St. Vigeous has been *ruined* by your impatience!” he reminded Spike with a glare full of hate.

“I was rash,” offered Spike, trying to remain serious, “and if I had to do it all over again…” he continued, unable to stifle the chuckle making its way up from his throat. “Who am I kidding?” he said with a roar of laughter. “I would do it exactly the same, only I'd do this...”

“No!” screamed Colin as Spike stood abruptly, lifting the boy in his arms and slung him over his shoulder, knocking out the presumptuous minion who dared to try to stop him and continuing on toward the cage hanging in the middle of the room.

“...first!” Spike thrust the boy inside, locking it behind him and taking hold of the chains it hung from. Drusilla watched on in glee.

“From now on,” started Spike, facing the small crowd that now gathered. “We're gonna have a little less ritual...” he said as he tugged on the chains sharply, pulling the cage higher and higher until it reached the top. The sun shined across the second story of the factory and the Anointed One screamed in pain as the rays ate at his flesh until all that was left was a pile of dust. “…And a little more fun around here.”

Spike grinned deviously as the room was filled with silence. He had now cemented his position as Master and got rid of the annoying one, all in one go. This was turning out to be a very productive morning. He let go of the chains and strode toward Dru, his hand out in offering.

“Let's see what's on TV,” he suggested nonchalantly as he led her away, wiling away the hours in the day. Night couldn’t come soon enough for him.

 

“Hey Buffy,” greeted Willow with a small wave. Buffy smiled and joined the redhead and their brown-haired buddy in quad of Sunnydale High.

“Well aren’t you the perky one, Wills,” remarked Buffy with a grimace. 

“Too perky if you ask me,” interjected Xander. “I’m thinking possession, what do ya say, Buff?”

“I’m starting to think you’re right on that, Xan. Especially after the night we had,” she groaned at the mere thought of her encounter with Spike. 

“Oh come on,” said Willow, with a hop in her step as they moved to wander the halls. “I’m on a total adrenaline rush!”

“Says the girl who *wasn’t* locked in a closet with Cordy,” muttered Xander disgruntled.

“There was a time when you *liked* being locked in a closet with Cordy,” the redhead whispered in his ear. “Besides, last time *I* was the one stuck with her. It’s only fair you had to experience my pain.”

“Oh ha, ha,” he mumbled with a frown. 

“Hey, I was thinking,” announced Buffy excitedly. “Since I’m not gonna die on Saturday, how about you, me, the Xan-man here, movie-fest at my place? What do you think?”

“I’ll be there,” assured Willow, glancing at Xander with a grin before amending her statement. “We’ll be there.” 

“Much coolness,” decided Buffy with a nod. They strode into the library, it was now close to lunch and unlike most of the students at Sunnydale High, they actually spent most of their time in the library. Trouble was they were never actually there to study, at least anything other than the demonic.

“Giles! Just the watcher I wanted to see,” said Buffy as she hopped up on the counter where Giles was pouring over some books. 

“Uh, yes…what?” he mumbled. He looked up, smiling at this slayer and nodding a greeting to the other two who were slowly becoming like children to him. 

“You know, I had a really hard night last night,” she told him conversationally, her tone light and cheery. “So I was thinking that me and my achy bones could use a night off.”

“I’m not sure that’s a good idea,” he commented as he abandoned his reading and shuffled to his office. “Spike is very much a threat,” he called as he searched through his filing cabinets, brow furrowed. 

“Which is why I should rest up, a strong slayer is a good slayer,” she argued. He cast a frustrated glance at her and returned to his task. 

“You need to patrol tonight,” he decided. “But it can a quick one, I’ll go with you. Alright?” 

“Fine,” she conceded with a sigh. The librarian slammed his file drawer shut with a resounding boom and stalked out of his office to the book cage, rifling through all the old texts. 

“What are you looking for G-man?” asked Xander as he and Willow leaned against the counter. 

“A book obviously,” he snapped, but then looked back at them apologetically. “One of my Watcher’s diaries, the Aurelius Chronicles, is missing. It has all my information on Spike,” he explained in a huff. 

Xander’s head snapped around to glance at Willow who suddenly paled. She knew she forgot something. That book was currently sitting on her couch and she had no way to get it back to the library without someone knowing, at least not right now. 

“No worries,” shrugged Xander, always calm in an impending crisis, “I’m sure it will turn up.” The bell rang and Buffy whimpered. 

“I guess we’re off,” she said as she slid of the counter. “I’ll meet you here at sunset Giles. And you promised a quick patrol and I’m sticking you to it. I’m talking tiny, miniscule even.”

“Yes, yes, just get to class,” he said in exasperation as he left the book cage to shoo them out of his library. The trio scooted out and split up, Buffy heading to the left to her English class, Willow and Xander to the right to their Biology class. 

“Do you still have that book?” hissed Xander.

“Um, yeah,” she admitted with a sheepish shrug. “But I think while they’re on patrol I can sneak it back in. I need twenty minutes max.”

“As long as you don’t run into any trouble,” he agreed. “Ow!” he shrieked as she smacked him as hard as she could on the arm.

“Are you trying to jinx me?” He backed away a little and held his hands up in defense. 

“I didn’t mean it, jeez!” he muttered, rubbing his arm gingerly. 

“Yeah, well, I run into any trouble and I’m blaming it on you!” she warned him before they stepped into the classroom. Still cradling his arm he took his seat hoping that she had a trouble-free night, he really didn’t want to be on her shit list. 

 

Willow had left Xander at the library to stand guard after Giles and Buffy left for patrol as she ran to find the book Giles had been searching for. It was now twenty-five minutes after sunset but she believed she was making good time. She unlocked her front door and threw it open, not even bothering to close it as she headed for the couch, grinning in triumph when she grabbed the book in question.

With a sigh of relief she left the house, locking the door once more behind her and taking off in a dead run toward the school. She ran down a few residential streets, easily remembering the fastest route back, through St. Edward’s cemetery. Luckily, Buffy was patrolling Rest-field and wouldn’t notice her traipsing through a graveyard. 

Her pace never slowed, determined to have this back in Giles’ library long before he returned, it would be a weight of her shoulders. She wasn’t even looking ahead really, just running. That’s why she never saw the figure in front of her before she plowed into it. 

“Damn it,” she groused, holding her side which was aching from the unexpected impact. “I so don’t have time for this.” 

Her book had been dropped in the scuffle; it now lay to her right a few inches away. Shaking her head she reached over to grab it but it was quickly snatched away from her. Her head snapped up and she groaned. Black boots, leather duster, red and black shirts, bleached blonde hair, stupid smirk. Of course, it was just her luck. 

“In a rush, pet?” drawled Spike as he dusted himself off from their fall, grinning down at the redhead still on the ground. He fingered the old book, glancing at the cover and raising a surprised eyebrow, turning attention back to the witch he kept running into, literally this time. 

“Gimme that,” she demanded, ignoring his offered hand as she stood, clutching her side. 

“The Aurelius Chronicles…” he read, amusement in his voice. “Reading up on me, should I be flattered?” 

“Gimme it,” she repeated, her eyes hard as she extended a hand to take it. He made no move to do as she said. 

“What’s it worth to you Red?” he wondered, eyeing her speculatively. He had been out on a rather productive hunt when he spotted her scent on the breeze. He headed in her general direction, never expecting to turn a corner and end up with a girl on top of him. Not that he was complaining, mind you. But as he looked at her, that familiar curiosity swept over him. Even now, something nagged at him. There was something about her that tugged at his memory, like he had seen her somewhere before but he just couldn’t remember it. And she seemed to know everything about him, but he knew nothing about her. Well, except that she was a witch and a friend of the slayer’s. 

“What do you want?” she asked warily. He smirked and she realized she really should have thought of a better way to phrase that question.

“So many things,” he teased in a low voice. “But I settle for just one. Your name.” 

“Excuse me?” she questioned. “My name. If I tell you my name you’ll give me the book, no tricks or anything?” 

“Just your name Red and you’ll get your bloody book. I promise,” he swore to her with a grin.

“Fat lot of good that does me,” she mumbled. “Fine. My name is Willow…Willow Ro--”

“–senberg,” he finished for her with a perplexed expression. Her mouth closed when he spoke, looking at him with nervous eyes. He narrowed his blue eyes, his memories seemed just out of reach, frustratingly so. 

“You-u said you’d give me my book-k,” she reminded him softly. His eyes never left hers as he stretched his arm and handed her the precious cargo, letting his fingers brush hers, hoping the touch would jolt his memories. It didn’t. 

“I’ve got to go,” she whispered, pushing past him and running off once more, leaving him alone once more with that annoying feeling of forgetfulness. 

“Bloody hell!” he snarled, so damn sick of this. Shaking it off with a growl, he stalked away to find something to eat. That redhead was driving him crazy. And he couldn’t find any answers to the mystery that was…Willow. But he had an idea, a good one. He just might be able to find out who that girl really was, and Dru might be the key.

 

Willow saw Xander waiting outside the doors to the library with arms crossed. When he saw the witch finally make her way down the hall, he sighed.

“It’s about time, what the hell took you so long?” he asked in a huff. 

“Are they back yet?” she demanded, her voice barely above a whisper. 

“No,” he frowned at her avoidance of his question. She walked around the brunette, pushing open the doors and moving to the book cage, placing the book under a few random texts so it wouldn’t look like someone had just put it back where it belonged. 

“Seriously, Wills,” Xander said gently, grabbing her arm in a light grip as she tried to move past him once more. “What happened?”

She debated whether to tell him about her latest disturbing encounter with Spike, but she just couldn’t tell him. She didn’t want to worry him. “Nothing, it’s nothing.” 

 

Chapter Thirteen: Halloween

 

Willow moaned in relief as she laid down, sinking into her mattress with a smile. She had just gotten home; Xander was actually spending the night at his parent’s house for a change that night. He did that every once in awhile, just to be safe. The redhead was tired, not that her night was particularly eventful, she just wasn’t sleeping well. She had a lot on her mind after all. More specifically, she had vampires on the brain.

Angel was still so wary around her and she was beginning to fear that he wouldn’t rest until he found out what she was hiding. She knew he was probably thinking the worst, that she was some sort of spy for the bad guys. He couldn’t be farther from the truth. But still, the brunette was nothing if not persistent and he made her nervous. 

Then there was Spike. He was becoming an even bigger problem. She didn’t understand why they kept running into each other. That never happened before, but now everywhere she went, it seemed like he was there. And even more disturbing, he knew her name. He was confused, she could tell, which meant he wasn’t sure how he knew her, but still, this had the potential for disaster if he figured out the truth. And if there was a demon more stubborn than Angel, it was Spike.

Shaking her head and forcing herself to close her eyes in hopes she’d drift off to sleep, Willow let her thoughts wander. She needed to rest up, after all, Halloween was coming up and if there was one thing she learned over the years, its that holidays + Buffy=major badness. 

 

She landed with a muffled ‘oof’. Gritting with fierce determination, Buffy arched her back and kicked her legs out, flipping herself off the ground and upright once more. Finding her stake in her pocket, she slipped it out and ran to the vampire in front of her. Looking around the pumpkin patch they were currently doing battle in, he grabbed the nearest object, a scarecrow, and shoved it at the slayer, causing her to impale it with her stake. He threw it at her and she grunted at the impact before pushing it aside and fighting him hand to hand.

A little red light was noticeable from the bushes a few feet away but Buffy was too distracted to see. A second vampire crouched low in the cover, looking through the lens of a video camera. The image of the slayer and fledge was becoming fuzzy and snowy but after hitting it a couple of times, it functioned normally. The vamp continued to watch in perfect silence.

Buffy was thrown back into a hay wagon, hanging onto the side, she kicked out, knocking the vamp to the ground. Seeing that he was down, she delivered one last kick before spotting a sign stuck into the ground advertising the pumpkin patch and rips it from the ground. He tried to reach for her legs, to knock her off balance, but she evaded his grasp and drove the makeshift stake through its heart. With a sigh, knowing her hair was a mess, she took one last look around and left.

The vampire in the bushes waited a minute before turning it off and slipping away from his hiding place. His boss would definitely want to see this. 

 

Angel sat at a table in the Bronze, a cappuccino sitting in front of him for show. He glanced at the entrance and then to the dance floor. Nothing. He checked his watch. She wasn’t here yet. He forced a sigh from his useless lungs and looked down.

“I know. Is the Bronze so not happening? Or what?” said Cordelia as she approached the brooding brunette. She had seen him moping in his coffee and her eyes lit up, she couldn’t resist the chance to flirt with Angel. Especially since her own date decided to ditch her. 

“Oh,” he mumbled, looking her way and feigning a smile. “Hi.”

“Hi!” she greeted with a big smile, the one that people always complimented on. 

“I'm waiting for Buffy,” he told her, hoping she would take the hint and maybe go back to her friends.

“Great!” she exclaimed much to his dismay. “I'm supposed to be meeting Devon, but he's nowhere to be seen. It's like he thinks being in a band gives him an obligation to flake.” Surprising even to him he laughed. Okay, Cordy’s annoying, but she was a little funny.

“Well, his loss is your incredible gain!” she said with a nod as she sat in the empty seat.

They sat and talked for awhile and while Angel didn’t find the conversation particularly interesting it passed the time. He hadn’t even checked his watch in, oh, ten minutes. He frowned, okay that didn’t count, he decided as he looked away from his watch once more.

“So I told Devon, 'You call that leather interior? My Barbie Dream Car had nicer seats!'” giggled Cordy, throwing her hair back. The front door opened and Buffy entered, looking around for any sign of Angel. And she found him, laughing, with Cordy. Fun. With a deep frown she abruptly turned around, silently cursing when she heard his voice. 

“Buffy?” called Angel, interrupting Cordy’s speech as he caught a glance of blonde hair. The girl hesitated but didn’t turn.

“Buffy!” he said again, leaving the table, sure that was indeed her standing by the door. Knowing she was caught, Buffy turned to face him, pasting on a smile.

“Hi! I'm...”

“Late,” he finished for her, raising an eyebrow at her fidgety behavior as she stood there.

“Rough day at the office,” she explained with a shrug, looking away.

“So I see,” he muttered as he pulled a piece of straw from her hair with a grin.

“Hey, it's a look. A seasonal look,” she defended as she touched a hand to her hair. 

“Buffy. Love the hair,” cooed Cordelia as she stepped up to the couple. “It just screams street urchin,” she sneered with a smile before spinning on her heel and walking away. 

“Know what? I need to go…put a bag over my head,” the slayer murmured embarrassedly. 

“Don't listen to her. Please. You look fine,” pleaded Angel, practically begging her to stay.

“You're sweet. A terrible liar, but sweet,” she told him, her head down, her spirits down as well.

“I thought we had...” he started, but she broke in.

“A date,” she snorted. “So did I. But who am I kidding?” Buffy shook her head sadly, her laugh self-depreciating.

“Dates are things normal girls have. Girls who have time to think about nail polish and facials. You know what I think about?” she asked with a humorless laugh. “Ambush tactics. Beheading. Not exactly the stuff dreams are made of.” With a sigh she couldn’t bring herself to look at him, so she shuffled nervously. “I’ve gotta go,” she mumbled before turning and leaving Angel alone in the Bronze. Cordelia grinned from a few feet away. It was time to cheer up Angel.

 

“You just left?” asked Willow as she, Xander, and Buffy walked down the halls of Sunnydale High. 

“Yeah,” Buffy confirmed with a hand to her forehead. 

“I approve,” said Xander before Willow smacked him upside the head. 

“You shouldn’t have left, Buff,” the redhead told Buffy. “Angel doesn’t care if your hair is messed up or that you were late. He’s totally head over heels for you. You should know that by now. Heck, he actually says more than two words to you at a time. If that doesn’t prove that he really likes you I don’t know what will.” Buffy giggled at that, knowing in a way that was the truth. 

“Hey!” yelped a girl as she passed a table set up in the hallway, Principal Snyder grabbing her by the arm and pulling her back to him.

“You’re volunteering,” he told her bluntly as he thrust out a clipboard. Xander looked to Willow and smirked.

“Snyder must be in charge of the volunteer safety program for Halloween this year,” the redhead commented with a grin.

“Note his interesting take on the volunteer concept,” Xander snickered.

“What's the deal?” Buffy wondered as she took in the scene.

“Oh, a bunch of little kids need people to take them trick-or-treating. Sign up and get your own pack of sugar-hyped little runts for the night,” he explained with a groan.

“Yikes. I'll stick to vampires,” Buffy cringed.

“Miss Summers,” said Snyder with a scowl. “Just the juvenile delinquent I've been looking for.”

“Principal Snyder!” Buffy greeted with a feigned enthusiasm. 

“Halloween must be a big night for you,” he drawled, his eyes narrow. “Tossing eggs, keying cars, bobbing for apples, one pathetic cry for help after another. Well, not this year, missy.” He stuck the clipboard and a pen in her face and she took a step back.

“Gosh, I'd love to sign up,” she told him, “but I recently developed carpal tunnel syndrome, and can tragically no longer hold a flashlight,” she finished with an exaggerated nod.

“The program starts at four, the children have to be back at six,” he informed her with a glare as she reluctantly took the clipboard. Xander and Willow tripped to sneak away but Snyder saw them and presented them with pens and a fiendish grin. Just great. They were babysitting on Halloween…again.

“Great,” whined Buffy as they moved to the repaired lounge. “I was gonna stay in and veg. The one night a year things are supposed to be quiet for me.”

“Halloween quiet?” remarked Xander. He still didn’t understand that one. You would think demons would revel in the chance to run around in the open. Maybe they thought it was too commercialized. “You know, I always figured it'd be a big old vamp scare-apalooza.”

“Not according to Giles,” she shrugged. “He swears that tomorrow night is, like, dead for the undead. They stay in.”

“Those wacky vampires!” laughed Xander, wishing he actually could have a night off too. Well, if he was destined to turn into his costume again, he was determined to get better looking fatigues, maybe even a bigger gun. “That's why I love 'em! They just keep you guessing!”

“Yup,” agreed Willow with a smile to him. “They’re just so darn unpredictable.”

 

“Here it comes,” said Spike, watching the tape that played on the television in front of him intently. “Rewind that. Let's see that again,” he ordered. The minion did as he was told, quickly rewinding the tape and playing it back. 

Spike grinned as he watched Buffy pummeling a fledgling. “She's tricky,” he drawled, watching her spin and kick her opponent with grace and agility. “Baby likes to play.”

“You see that?” he said, more to himself that anyone else. “The way she stakes him with that thing? That's what's called resourceful,” he commended with a shake of his head. “Rewind it again.”

“Miss Edith needs her tea,” came a whisper of a voice as Drusilla entered the room.

“C'mere, poodle,” he said, calling to her with a smile. She was doing well today, still so dangerously weak, but she seemed almost normal today. Or at least as normal as she got. She joined him in front of the screen and watched it without really looking.

“I've got to study this Slayer,” he muttered, looking to her with a soft smile full of hope for her recovery. “Once I know her I can kill her. And once I kill her you can have your run of Sunnyhell. Get strong again.”

“Don't worry,” she murmured, swaying slightly. “Everything's switching. Outside to inside. It makes her weak…”

“Really?” he asked with evident glee. “Did pet have a vision?”

“Do you know what I miss?” she asked him with a sleepy grin, her attention wavering. “Leeches.”

“Come on, talk to Spike,” he pressed. “This thing that makes the Slayer weak? When is it?”

“Tomorrow,” she purred as she danced by herself.

“Tomorrow's Halloween. Nothing happens on Halloween,” he scoffed with a disappointed shake of his head.

“Someone's come to change it all,” she let out a pleased growl. “Someone new,” Dru grinned. A faint frown crossed her face but Spike noticed it immediately. “Someone old as well…”

“Old? What do you mean old Dru? Ancient?” he prodded, she seemed distressed by the thought, like something wasn’t making any sense, even to her. 

“No,” she pouted. “Not that kind of old. They aren’t new, but they went back. Changing everything…or trying to,” she said, even he had a hard time unscrambling that one. “They broke the rules, not supposed to play with things like that…they’ll pay for it. The stars have seen to it. Naughty boys and girls.”

“Dru? Pet? I don’t understand,” he told her, frustrated with himself. Usually he could dissect her ramblings faster than anyone. Today just wasn’t his day.

“Things are different, can’t you tell William?” she whispered, resuming her twirling. “They are the same, but not. We’ve all changed. You were mine before, now you’re not…maybe it’s better this way…”

“I was yours?” he asked in confusion, struggling to keep up. She was talking in circles. “Your what?”

“Childe…love…everything…no longer…” she muttered before stilling and fixing him with a hard stare. “Brought you heartache, made you cry and hurt, maybe its better this way. No pain for William…”

“Your childe?” he murmured to himself, searching for the reason that sounded so familiar. Then it hit him, the redhead…Willow, when they met in the park. She said she knew him, knew all about him. ‘Drusilla’s your sire…you’re in love with her’. He still had no clue what was going on, but he had the distinct feeling he was being played. He hated games, unless he was the one in control, and this time he most certainly was not.

“Tomorrow?” he turned to Dru. “Tomorrow is the night?” he pressed, desperate for answers, for an explanation for that nagging feeling of forgetfulness, of wrongness that plagued him.

“The night for changes,” she acknowledged. “The night for answers,” she whispered with a knowing grin. “So many delicious secrets to be told…but you must be sure to ask the right questions…” That settled it. On Halloween, he was gonna kill him a slayer and find him a redhead, he had to, if only for the sake of his sanity.

 

Chapter Fourteen: 

 

Buffy left Willow and Xander at school, telling Giles to say goodbye to them for her before she made her way downtown, deciding to pay a visit to the newest costume shop. It wasn’t like she had a choice in the matter; she had to wear a stupid costume tonight. Snyder had declared it law practically, dressing up was mandatory when escorting little rug rats around town that night.

Pushing the glass door open, hearing the bell ding as she entered, the blonde looked around, seeing the usual get ups, you know, a ghost, a witch, vampires, nothing she didn’t deal with every day of her rather eventful life. It was crowded in there, mothers and fathers with their kids searching for the perfect last minute costume. Winding her way through the crowd, eyes darting around looking in vain for something that just screamed ‘Buffy’, her path led her toward the back of the shop where she froze.

It was gorgeous, beautiful, and so not her. But still, she couldn’t resist taking a closer look. Buffy took a hesitant step toward the gown that was on display near the counter. Biting her lip, she ran her fingers over the fabric, sighing at the feel of silk and lace. It was pink, with accenting colors of burgundy and white. The dress pooled on the floor and it even had a slight train. She could see a hint of gold woven into the lace and if she closed her eyes she could picture herself wearing the dress, her hair in ringlets maybe, looking every bit the eighteenth century girl. 

Just as she was about the shake herself out of the daze this gown had put her in, an older gentleman, a kindly looking man, if a little pushy, strode toward her, a gentle smile on his face. He didn’t look any older than Giles and the accent he sported when he spoke reminded her of her beloved watcher.

“Please,” he started with a small grin as he unzipped the back of the gown, letting it fall away from the mannequin holding it up. “Let me.”

She shook her head and took a step back, “Oh, it’s-s…”

“Magnificent,” he finished for her with a nod. “Yes. I know,” he pulled the dress off the mannequin and placed it in front of her, taking a step to the side slightly so she could see herself in the mirror behind him. “There,” he said with a smile. “My…meet the hidden princess,” he drawled. Buffy blushed a little. She knew he was probably just trying to make a sale, but she couldn’t help but agree with him. “I think we’ve found a match. Don’t you?” 

“Oh, uh, I-I’m sorry,” she stammered, “There is no way I could ever afford this,” she told him sadly, a wistful look on her face as she glanced back down at the gown.

“Oh, nonsense,” he scoffed with a calculating look. “I feel quite moved to make you a deal you…can’t refuse,” he informed her with a congenial smile. She moved to argue with him, but her mouth closed when no words came out. Reluctantly, she took a step forward, taking the gown from his hands and holding it against her. She smiled shyly as she gazed at her form in the mirror. It was decided then and there, she had to have it. It was too beautiful to pass up.

Handing it back to the shopkeeper, she followed him to the counter so he could ring it up for her. She couldn’t wait to show Willow what she found. And she could only imagine Angel’s reaction. This would be a Halloween to remember.

 

“Xander…” Willow groaned as the brunette stepped into her room. He frowned as he saw her roll her eyes at him. He looked down at his outfit and then back up at the redhead.

“What?” he shrugged. He moved to the mirror and looked himself over with an approving nod. 

“You’re going as a soldier again?” she asked with a sigh. He was dressed once again in fatigues. The olive green tank top fit him perfectly and the camouflage pants he wore were baggy and comfortable looking. 

“Hey, I think I look good,” he defended, cringing at the slight whine in his voice. “Besides, I don’t think you have room to talk,” he reminded her with a leer. Her face matched her hair at his obvious appreciation for her choice in wardrobe. She was wearing a short black leather mini, a burgundy tank top that ended a little bit above her waist, showing off a decent amount of flesh, and finished off with knee-high black boots.

“This isn’t *exactly* what I wore last time,” she denied. “But it’s come as you aren’t night, right? Well, this is how I…aren’t…” she finished with a frown at her misuse of grammar. 

“Whatever you say, Wills,” he chuckled. “At least this time, I’ll still be me. No little enchanted toy gun for this guy. Although, it was kinda cool, knowing all that stuff. Attack maneuvers, battle strategies, it was all very manly.”

“Yeah,” she snorted, “You get weapons training, I died,” she reminded him. “So not fun.” 

“But hey, you got to walk through walls, sneak up on everyone, fun could be had with that,” he tried to make her laugh. Xander grinned at her reluctant giggle. “At least you weren’t some damsel in distress, like Buffy. That got annoying quick.” 

Willow stopped her primping at the mention of the slayer. She hadn’t gotten to even speak with the blonde in detail in between the craziness of the day. Which meant there was a very good chance that at this very moment Buffy was getting ready for their night of trick-or-treating, wearing that gown, oh crap.

“Uh, Will?” Xander called, waving a hand in front of her face. “What’s with the space cadet act?”

“What would you say if I told you that I kinda forgot to tell Buffy about tonight, about Ethan’s wacky scheme?” she asked softly. His face became hard as he stared at her incredulously. 

“Tell me you’re kidding,” he demanded. She shook her head and he ran a hand over his face with a sigh of anger. “How could you j-just forget?!”

“Me? At least I’m trying to help!” she countered, her voice raised, hurt that he was yelling at her. “You–you just sit there and pretend to help, but you don’t! At least I’m trying to help Buffy. You think I’m happy that she’s possibly gonna turn into some helpless eighteenth century girl because I forgot to warn her about the danger awaiting her? But I’m trying Xan, which is more than I can say for you!” 

He clenched his jaw and turned on his heel, stalking to her bedroom door and flinging it open. He looked over his shoulder to the aggravated witch. 

“Come on,” he said gruffly. “We need to get to Buffy’s house,” Xander told her, waiting as she put a couple things away and joined him at the door. “But Will, we’re not done here. You understand?”

Willow shook her head sadly and pushed past him, heading for the front door, knowing he was right behind her. He was right though; once they found Buffy and stopped Ethan she and Xander would have a serious talk. It was long past due.

 

The older British man pushed back the curtains to the back of his shop. He had his palms pressed tightly together, wincing slightly as he kneeled down and separated his hands, blood now coating them. 

Ethan took a deep breath and looked upon the statue before him. He could only see one side of the two-faced bust, but it did not matter. “The world that denies thee, thou inhabit,” he breathed with a gleeful smile. His fingers of his right hand dabbed at the blood on his left palm, smearing the blood across his right eyelid.

“The peace that ignores thee…” he continued, his face flickering in the dim candlelight. He repeated his earlier action across his left eyelid. “…Thou corrupt.”

Ethan smeared another dab of blood across his forehead, his total attention focused on the bust settled in front of him. “Chaos. I remain, as ever, thy faithful, degenerate son…” He looked to the small sheet of paper and grinned. 

“Persona se corpum et sanguium commutandum est. Vestra sancta praesentia concrescet viscera. Janus! Sume noctem!” he finished, his voice husky with anticipation. The candles flickered along the two faces of the statue, a sudden breeze blowing through the store though there was no draft. The unnatural breeze made its way through the entire town in one clean sweep and Ethan grinned triumphantly, face covered in swashes of his own blood. This was going to be fun. 

 

Buffy clamored out of her house, her feet already tripping down the stairs of her porch as she called out a quick goodbye to her mother. She had her dress gathered in her fists as she made her way back to the high school to pick up her very own little monsters for the evening. She grinned at the thought. Okay, so she really hadn’t been looking forward to babysitting a bunch of little kids, but she looked and felt great. It would take a lot to spoil her good mood. 

She barely avoided colliding with a group children who were too busy laughing and comparing candy to notice her. Granting them an indulgent smile she weaved her way around them and continued on. The blonde had hoped to see Willow and Xander before they had to split up with the kids but sadly it didn’t happen. Not that it was a big deal; after all, she’d see them tomorrow at school anyway. 

Glancing up at the luminous night sky, the moon bright and shining, and the slayer grinned and smoothed down her dress. She hoped she got to see Angel tonight; she did dress up for him and everything. He would love it; it’d probably remind him of his younger human days. At least she hoped he’d love it. 

Stopping mid-step as a shiver made its way up her spine; Buffy looked around for any sign of danger. There was none that she could see but the sudden feeling of menace didn’t leave her. A strong gust of wind caught her by surprise and her head began to feel light. Pressing her hands to her temples, the blonde let out a groan as the dizziness came over her and she passed out, falling to the sidewalk in an undignified heap. 

 

Willow and Xander were making good time, practically flying down the streets to Buffy’s house when the redhead pulled him to an abrupt stop. Her hand wrapped around his forearm and gripped it tightly, causing him to wince as his steps faltered. He still wasn’t happy with her, but he knew her well enough to know that something was up.

The witch felt something come over her, something unnatural, something evil. During her time in England, she had learned that everything was connected, the ground, the animals, people, demons, magic; all of it was so intimately intertwined. As a powerful witch she was extremely in tune with the earth so she knew the second something changed. There was something in the air, it was thick with anxiety and evil and she cringed as the feeling worked its way through her. 

“Just stop, Xan,” she said softly, knowing he was looking at her curiously. “Listen…feel…” she told him. He remained silent and did as she said. He understood immediately what was bothering her; there was a deep sense of wrongness here. 

A harsh wind swept over them and the pair shuddered in the breeze. Her green eyes, which had previously been shut, snapped open at the sound of a growl. All around them the children that had been previously giggling and chattering were now deformed. Some were green, others had horns, some even had the distinct ridges found on a vampire. She looked around nervously, seeing that the newly demonic kids were looking for any sign of prey, and unfortunately she and Xander just screamed prey. 

“Time to book,” Xander interrupted her thoughts grimly. He grabbed her hand and pulled her into a run, the sound of harsh growls following them as they sped down the street. She didn’t want to leave him on his own, especially when they were being hunted, but she had to get to Giles. He could stop all this, stop Ethan.

“Find Buffy!” the redhead shouted, her breath coming in pants. He glanced at her as they continued to run. “You find her, I have to find Giles! Just go!” she told him, pulling her hand from his and sparing him a glance before she turned in the opposite direction toward the school. With his own growl of frustration Xander watched her go for a second before continuing his search for the slayer. 

“I swear,” he muttered to himself, “I’m gonna kill that girl; that is if a damn demon doesn’t do it for me…” 

 

His delighted chuckle was barely discernable above the roars and snarls that rang out. Boots hit the pavement beneath them, a skip in his step as he strode down Main Street and into the residential areas. As he neared the tree-lined streets of the suburbs, the number of possessed, if you could call it that, increased tenfold. 

Spike didn’t bother with his human façade, easily blending in with the crowd in his demonic face. The maniacal grin across his handsome face only widened as he continued on. This had to be the most…interesting Halloween he had ever been a part of. Looks like Dru’s vision was right on the money. 

“Well,” he drawled, his tongue poking slightly out between his lips. “This is just…neat…”

 

Chapter Fifteen:

 

“Buffy!” Xander screeched as he came upon the slayer who was currently sprawled across the pavement. He dropped to his knees, pulling her into a sitting position and brushing the now brown strands of hair away from her face. 

“Buffy, are you hurt?” he asked, looking her over for any sign of injury.

“Buffy?” she murmured, a hand going to her head as she regained her bearings. 

“Damn it,” he cursed softly. “I forgot, you’re not Buffy. This is fun,” he snorted. “Okay, what year is this?” 

“1775, I believe,” she stammered, eyes darting around her surroundings in confusion. She pulled away from his hold on her, nervous around the strange man. She let him pull her up to stand. “I-I don’t understand…who are you?” 

“We’re…friends,” he admitted, his voice cracking at the admission. 

“F-Friends of whom?” she scoffed, stepping away from him. “Your dress…everything is strange! How-w did I come to be here?” she pleaded, desperation lacing her unusually fragile sounding voice.

“Come on,” he demanded, taking her arm in his hard grip as he pulled her back toward her house. “We need to get inside before we come across anything…”

“A demon!” she screamed in terror, moving to hide behind him and shield herself from the vile creature. “A demon!” Her head peeked out over his shoulder for a moment before returning to her previous job of cowering.

“That’s not a demon,” he heaved a great sigh, wrenching her arm off his waist and moving her to his side. “It’s a car,” he explained patiently.

“What does it want?” she pouted at his reprimand, her voice small and scared. He immediately regretted being so cross with her. He opened his mouth to try and explain to her exactly what a car was but halted. They didn’t have time for this and he just didn’t have the energy or patience to even think about describing the mechanics of a moving vehicle. 

“Let’s get inside,” he said gruffly, starting off in the opposite direction, pulling the slightly protesting Buffy behind him. He just hoped Willow was having better luck with Giles. 

 

Willow ran down the hall of Sunnydale High, heels clicking loudly in the quiet. She pushed open the double doors to the library, panting slightly and looking around wildly for the watcher. 

The older Brit looked up from his research, startled by her sudden and noisy appearance. He shook his head and removed his glasses and began polishing them furiously, remaining silent as the redhead caught her breath.

“Monsters…” she breathed, her body hunched over and her hand resting on her stomach to ease the slight ache. Giles merely raised an eyebrow and waited. “Kids turned into monsters…” she exclaimed, her heart rate slowly returning to normal.

“Excuse me?” he stammered, closing his book and stepping around the counter. 

“They turned into their costumes!” she told him. “It’s a spell, I don’t know what kind…” she added with frustration. 

“Who could be responsible for such a foolish act?” he wondered as he ran a hand over his face. 

“His name is Ethan…Ethan Rayne. Ring a bell?” she glanced at him, seeing the man pale.

“E-Ethan? But how? He couldn’t possibly be that daft,” he scoffed, but stopped mid-thought, rethinking his previous statement. “Yes he could,” he groaned.

“There was a shop, a costume shop. It just opened up a few days ago. He named it Ethan’s, how creative,” she continued with a roll of her eyes. “Everyone that bought their costumes there has changed. We’re talking vampires, mummies, demons of all shapes and sizes. Its nuts out there. And Buffy--” her voice trailed off.

“What about Buffy? Is she alright?” he demanded, taking a step toward her. 

“She isn’t really Buffy anymore,” she informed him with a grimace, “at least not Slayer-Buffy. Right now she’s more, 18th century helpless, whiny Buffy.”

“Damn it!” growled Giles as he stepped back behind the counter, searching through the hidden drawers and cabinets and removing a stake and cross, just in case. “Bloody arrogant fool,” he muttered, his mind focused on stopping Ethan. His old friend had always been reckless and now Buffy was in danger because of it. He messed with powers he couldn’t conceive of and they all were paying the price.

“Can you show me where he is?” he asked briskly. She nodded and waited as he threw on his coat to protect him from the cold. “Lead the way.”

 

Meanwhile, Xander had pulled Buffy into her house which was thankfully deserted. She hovered in the entryway as he rummaged through the home, searching for a weapon, something to stave off the creatures that were currently banging on the front door. Grinning when he found a small axe in her weapon’s chest, he tripped down the stairs and thrust the weapon at her, offering it to her.

“What are you doing?” she asked, flipping her hair over her shoulder and looking at him in distaste. 

“Take it,” he told her. “Sooner or later you’re going to have to fight.”

“Fight these lowly creatures?” she groaned in disgust. “I’d sooner die,” she informed him haughtily, her arms crossed over her chest.

“Then you’ll die,” he said frankly, not bothering with her any longer, keeping the axe in his own hands. She frowned and went to apologize, but she was cut off when they heard the back door in the kitchen open and close and footsteps head toward them. Buffy clamored to Xander’s side, holding onto him tightly as another man approached.

“Oh good, you’re all right,” said Angel, relief evident in his voice as he saw Buffy alive and well. “It’s total chaos out there.” He had been roaming the town, brooding and thinking when he felt the change sweep Sunnydale. Then he heard the growls, the fighting, and lastly, he saw children, or what used to be children, turned into the demons he fought everyday. He had run to Buffy’s house, needing to know she was okay, which thankfully she was.

“Who are you?” whimpered Buffy as she moved closer to Xander. 

“Buffy…” Angel started, taking a step toward her and stopping when she cringed. “Okay, I’m lost here. You…what’s up with your hair?” he wondered absently, finally noticing her now brown locks.

“She doesn’t know who she is, everyone’s turned into monsters. It’s a thing,” explained Xander as best he could, loathing that he was being polite to Angel, of all people, or should he say demons. “Take her,” he said, pushing Buffy toward Angel as she glared at him. “Check the kitchen, I’m going to check on the living room.” With that, Xander turned away, leaving a slightly disgruntled Buffy with a very confused Angel.

She looked like she was about to argue about being placed with him, but Angel wasn’t in the mood to hear it. Grabbing her elbow, he pulled her along. “C’mon.” 

They stepped into the darkened kitchen, Angel stopping abruptly when he spotted the open back door. “I didn’t leave that open,” he muttered, abandoning her side to search the rest of the room. Buffy waited nervously near the door to the basement, wringing her hands. The door behind her opened with a soft creak and Buffy spun on her heel, running to slam the door on the vampire lunging at her with a yelp. Angel was at her side in less than a second, tackling the former student to the floor and pinning him down as best he could. 

Xander was almost finished surveying the living and family rooms when he heard the commotion and he turned to the kitchen quickly, his balance wavering slightly before he righted himself and took off.

“A stake!” shouted Angel, slamming the vamp down against the floor as he continued to struggle.

“A what?” she asked, tears making their way down her face as her body shook slightly. 

“Get me a stake!” he growled, causing her to jump. She looked around the kitchen but could not find what he was asking for. Grabbing a butcher knife that lay on the counter, she approached him tentatively just as Xander appeared in the doorway.

“Angel!” he shouted, trying to get the souled vampire’s attention and failing. “Whatever you do, just don’t--” 

Angel didn’t even notice Xander standing only feet away from him, too preoccupied with his captive. “Hurry up!” he snarled as his head snapped up to glare at Buffy. She screamed shrilly, a scream of pure terror, when she caught sight of his mangled features and promptly turned and ran out the back door before either man could stop her.

“–show her your game face,” Xander finished with a grunt.

“Buffy, no!” yelled Angel, forgetting the man under him as he pulled himself up, glancing at Xander worriedly and then to the door. They came to a silent agreement, both walking quickly and with purpose out the door and to the hectic street filled with monsters.

“Are you sure she came this way?” Xander asked stiffly, frustration lacing his voice.

“No,” Angel replied simply, his eyes never straying from their path. They had been walking for a couple minutes, having no clue whether or not they were even close to finding her.

“She’ll be okay,” he tried grudgingly to reassure the vampire, knowing he was truly worried.

“*Buffy* would be okay. Whoever she is now, she’s helpless,” he told him with a glare. “C’mon.” Xander picked up the pace and they continued on.

 

A toothy grin crossed the blonde vampire’s face as he listened to the conversation that his sire was having with the boy he remembered from that club a few days ago. 

“Did you hear that my friends?” he chuckled as he glanced at the assorted tiny demons that surrounded him, basking in the power he radiated. They growled and snarled in response and he grinned. Looking back to the street where Angel and Xander were walking he smirked.

“Somewhere out there is the *tenderest* meat you’ve *ever* tasted,” he told them, licking his lips in anticipation. “And all we have to do is find her first…”

 

Buffy stumbled into an alley, crying and disoriented. Wiping at the endless stream of tears she whimpered and continued on, coming face to face with a student-turned-pirate who was leering at her with a dark grin, teeth completely rotted. 

“Pretty, pretty,” he purred, taking a step forward as she gasped and turned, running away from his intimidating form with a choked sob.

 

“Hello…” Giles called as he and Willow stepped into the dark shop. Seeing light coming from the backroom, she placed a hand on his arm and pointed to the door. They both crept quietly into the backroom, freezing when they saw the statue seated on a table in the center of the room, the eyes glowing an eerie green.

“Janus. Roman mythical god,” the watcher breathed, rubbing a hand over his face. 

“What does this mean?” she asked, for the life of her she couldn’t remember exactly what Janus was the god of. And they called her research girl. 

“Primarily the division of self. Male and Female, light and dark…”

“Chunky and creamy,” added an amused voice as a thinner man stepped out from the darkness. “Oh no, sorry, that’s peanut butter.” Giles stared at the newcomer, feeling both amazed and absolutely furious at the sight of his old friend.

“Willow, get out of here now,” he ordered in a low, authoritative tone. She knew better than to argue, besides, if she remembered correctly, Buffy would need her help right about now. She left quickly, her fast paced walk turning into a hurried jog as she tried to remember which alley Buffy was in. 

“Hello Ethan,” said Giles, no happiness found in his voice.

“Hello Ripper,” he greeted with a devilish grin.

 

Buffy wasn’t fast enough to evade her pursuer. Her gown hindered her movement and she yelped when she felt a hand close around her arm. But then it was gone. She turned to see what had happened, relief flooding her when she saw Xander punch the pirate, but the man hadn’t given up just yet. 

Angel appeared, ignoring Xander’s predicament and focusing completely on Buffy. “Are you okay?” he asked softly. She cringed and cowered behind a crate, causing his worried frown to deepen.

“Y-You’re a v-vampire,” she stuttered, lip trembling. Xander managed to get the upper hand once more and was able to knock the pirate out cold. With heaving breaths, he looked to Buffy and Angel, swallowing the bitter taste that invaded his mouth at the thought of the words he was about to speak, he opened his mouth.

“Angel’s a good vampire,” he told Buffy, in soft, reassuring tones. Angel glanced at him suddenly, surprise etched on his face. Xander was defending him? “He would never hurt you.” Now he knew that was a lie. Angelus would hurt her and revel in the pain he caused. Angel wasn’t much better himself. He would leave her, not even saying goodbye, just walk away. Angel would hurt her, but she couldn’t know that, especially not now. He needed her to trust the vampire.

“Really?” she asked hesitantly, slowly standing.

“Absolutely,” he said with a nod, glad when she smiled tentatively. Angel too seemed greatly relieved. They looked up at the sound of shuffling, footsteps, coming their way. There were many, Angel wasn’t sure how many, and he glanced at Xander anxiously. They heard a growl and Angel spotted a bleached blonde head coming in their direction, spurring him into action. 

Sweeping Buffy into his arms, Angel took off in the opposite direction, Xander a couple feet behind them as they ran to the shelter of a closed down factory. Sliding the door shut behind him, Xander moved to place a few crates and whatever else he could find to block the entrance. It wouldn’t hold, he knew as much, but if it delayed Spike even just a bit it was worth it. 

“Go!” he shouted to Angel as he held the door, the pounding of fists on the other side making it harder and harder for him to hold it. Angel put Buffy down and ran through the crates inside the factory.

Xander felt the door give and panicked. The crates broke as the demons forced their way through, eventually losing his grip on what was left and stumbling backwards just in time to see them all pour into the factory, Spike was the last one to walk in. His arms were pinned to his sides by three demons who had captured him the moment they walked through the door and Spike didn’t even spare him a glance as he strode past the struggling boy and to the back., his minions ahead of him. 

He heard Angel fighting as best he could as he tried to protect Buffy and knew he was failing. They dragged him to the back where they held Angel as well. They fought against their captors but knew it was pointless. If Angel couldn’t escape his captor’s hold with vampiric strength, what chance did he have? 

As Spike sauntered toward a cowering and shaking Buffy, Xander couldn’t help but wonder where the hell was Willow? 

 

Chapter Sixteen:

 

“What?” asked Ethan with a pout as he looked at Giles, a playful grin crossing his face. “No hug? Aren’t you pleased to see your old mate, Ripper?”

“So it is you,” he muttered contemptuously, sneering at his old friend. “This stunt stinks of Ethan Rayne.”

“Yes it does, doesn’t it?” he chuckled. “Don’t wish to blow my own trumpet,” he continued as he stepped closer to the watcher. “But it’s genius. The very embodiment of ‘be careful what you wish for’.”

“It’s sick, and brutal, and it harms the innocent,” growled Giles.

“Oh,” he retorted with a raised eyebrow, “and we both know you’re the champion of all things good and pure, Rupert. It’s quite a little act you’ve got going here, old man.”

“It’s no act,” he denied fervently. “It’s who I am.”

“Who you are?” Ethan mocked, “The watcher, the sniveling, tweed-clad guardian of the slayer and her kin? I think not.” He took a step closer to fuming Englishman. “I know who you are, Rupert, and I know what you’re capable of.” He took a moment to himself, cocking his head to the side in thought before grinning widely. “But they don’t, do they? They have no idea where you come from.” 

“Break the spell, Ethan,” he demanded softly, but his voice not lacking in firmness. “Then leave this place and never come back.”

“Why should I?” he scoffed. He was having a right bit of fun that night and wasn’t willing to just give it up because the watcher told him to. “What’s in the bargain for me?”

Giles looked him up and down, no expression on his usually kind and gentle face. “You get to live.”

He laughed. He couldn’t help it really. “Oh, Rupert,” Ethan drawled, the amused smirk evident on his face. “You’re scaring me,” he taunted in between chuckles. Chuckles that immediately stopped the moment he had the wind knocked out of him by Ripper’s fists. Now *that* was the man he knew from his younger days, he thought with a slight grimace at the pain.

“Good to have you back, Ripper,” he coughed with a pained smile, which was abruptly wiped off his face by a left hook. 

 

Spike couldn’t conceal the gleeful grin that crossed his face as he backed the slayer up against a pile of stacked crates. Angel and Xander were currently cursing up a storm, struggling and the like, but none of it entered his mind. He was solely focused on the girl before him, crying and terrified. It was such a rush. 

Buffy hiccupped as her legs hit crates that blocked her path. She didn’t know who this…thing was, but she was quite sure he wasn’t as friendly as Angel was. Ridges distorted his face and yellowed eyes gleamed in the darkness as he cornered her, making sure she was going nowhere. 

“Look at you…” he purred, his tongue sweeping across his bottom lip in anticipation. “Shaking. Terrified. Alone. Lost little lamb…” His knees were pressed against hers through the layers of her gown and his jeans as he leaned in closer. “I love it!” he declared with a laugh.

Wrapping a massive, strong hand around her neck, nails digging into her flesh, leaving little half-moons along her throat, he pushed her back. Buffy felt her back hit the top of the crates and she sobbed even harder. His other hand brushed her forehead, pushing her matted hair away before gripping it harshly and turning her head to the side.

“Buffy!” screamed Angel, desperate and frightened for her, but he was still stuck, about to watch her death.

Spike smiled, a sight which frightened her more than anything, and leaned in closer for the kill.

 

Ethan was sprawled out on the floor of his back office in his store, absently holding wrapping an arm over his chest to cradle his aching ribs. He laughed weakly and looked up at the man above him who stood there, polishing his glasses like nothing had happened. He felt the blood dribbling down his chin and wiped at it, grimacing at the sight.

“And you said the Ripper was long gone,” he teased, earning him a swift kick to the stomach. 

“Tell me how to stop the spell,” Giles demanded in a neutral tone.

“Say pretty please,” he remarked with a snort. He was kicked harshly in the kidneys and he shouted out his pain, groaning and rolling on the floor. He was beginning to wonder if this was really worth all the pain.

“Now, tell me how to stop the spell,” Giles said reasonably, putting his glasses back on.

“Janus,” Ethan wheezed. “Break the statue…”

Giles wasted no time in crossing the small distance between him and the table and lifted the statue above his head, throwing it to the floor with a mighty crash. And the green light disappeared from its enchanting eyes. 

 

Spike growled and licked his lips as he leaned in closer, already almost able to taste the powerful blood that pulsed beneath her skin. Just as he was about to finally take a bite, his hand left the slayer’s throat, one still wrapped in her hair, as he caught the pipe that was coming full speed at his head. 

Tilting his head to the side, the bleach blonde regarded his assailant with a calculating eye, his smile lacking any amusement. It had occurred to him as he went in for the kill, that the room had become unusually quiet. There was no protesting coming from Angel or Xander, no sounds of their previous struggle. Only the murmurs coming from his help filled the room. Well, that and the ‘whoosh’ that accompanies the swinging of a lead pipe aimed at one’s head. 

Still holding onto the offending weapon was a tiny but powerful, and mightily pissed off, redhead. He grinned around his fangs. Just the girl he was going to look for after he offed the slayer. This was definitely turning into a productive evening.

“Now, that wasn’t nice,” he drawled with a smirk at her glare as she tightened her grip on the pipe. “You hurt my feelings, pet. Somebody might think you want to hurt me.”

“They would be right,” she said as she tugged on the lead pipe they both still held. He took the time to look her up and down, leering blatantly.

“Gotta say Red, I love your costume. What are you supposed to be exactly?” he chuckled as he waggled his eyebrows. She refused to dignify that with an answer, instead pulling harshly at her weapon. Her strength was no match for his and he pulled it from her grasp, throwing it across the room, barely missing a few minions as it hit the wall and clattered to the ground.

“You thought you could stop me?” he commented with a smug grin. “Not gonna happen, pet. Your slayer’s as good as dead. And then, you and me, love, we’re gonna have words,” he informed her, his face darkening. 

Willow hesitated a moment before replying, yet another shiver making its way up her spine. There was even more magic in the air. “I don’t think so,” she told him with a suddenly confident grin. He paid no attention to the background noise in the factory. But if he had, he would have noticed that the growls and snarls coming from his companions had faded into whimpers and cries for their parents. He would have noticed that Xander and Angel were no longer restrained.

“And why is that?” he countered with a sharp growl.

“Because she might have something to say about that,” Willow said, pointing to the slayer. Spike abruptly turned back to the girl, frowning when he pulled on her hair and his hand pulled away a wig. Looking down, his eyes widened as Buffy, blonde hair and all, sprung up, punching him squarely in the nose.

“Hi honey, I’m home,” the slayer grinned, not wasting any time in hitting the surprised vampire once more as Xander and Angel struggled to calm to scared children. 

“You know what?” Buffy said as she continued to pummel Spike relentlessly, hitting him so hard that he flew back into a crate, sliding off it to the floor in a heap. “It’s good to be me.” 

Regaining his balance as best he could, Spike could only glare at them all one last time before running off, knowing this was a fight he had no chance of winning. He really hated Halloween.

Angel ran to Buffy’s side and she smiled reassuringly at his worried expression. “Welcome back,” he smiled, caressing her cheek. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” she sighed tiredly. He said nothing more, just wrapped his arm around her shoulders and led her out of the factory.

Xander glanced at Willow, who looked exhausted, and then at the kids still lingering nervously in the warehouse. “I’ll take them back to school,” he said to the redhead softly. Willow looked surprised, but he figured it was the least he could do. “I’ll meet you at home.”

“Yeah,” she agreed with a nod. “We still have to talk,” she reminded him soberly.

“Tomorrow,” he decided with a tiny smile. “It can wait until tomorrow. We deserve a night’s rest.” The witch smiled gratefully and he rounded up the children. He began to lead the small group out the door, looking over his shoulder one last time to his best friend. “You did good tonight Wills.”

“You too,” she said softly, relieved that he wasn’t angry with her anymore. “Now go,” she shooed him. He laughed and escorted all the kids out the door and down the alley toward the high school.

Willow took a moment to rest on one of the many boxes that littered the ground, taking deep, calming breaths to relax her. To say that tonight had been stressful would be an understatement. But it was over and she was ready to soak in a nice, hot bath and then climb into bed and fall into the sweet oblivion of sleep. She closed her eyes, groaning as she stood, and running a hand over her face. “Sleep sounds so good right about now,” she mumbled as she walked forward blindly.

“Gonna have to wait,” announced a deep, husky British voice. She looked up sharply, eyes widening as she saw Spike leaning in the doorway. He didn’t look amused or smug, like he usually did. Instead, he just looked decidedly dangerous and when he spoke again, she felt a chill come over her. “We’re not done here.” 

 

Chapter Seventeen:

 

Giles looked around the storeroom, frowning as he failed to spot any sign of Ethan Rayne. He glanced one last time at the shattered remains of Janus and then to the curtained doorway that separated this room from the rest of the shop. Wiping the sweat of his brow he stepped through the curtains, somewhat unsurprised to see no sign of Ethan.

He stepped into the sales area, pushing his way past the many costumes, masks, and props that cluttered the halls. He paused as he headed to the exit, looking out the windows in front of the store to the now quiet streets, and then back toward the counter. That’s when he spotted it.

Sitting on the counter next to the cash register was a piece of paper, propped up gently. Retracing his steps, Giles retrieved the note, seeing the familiar scrawl across it. There were only three words written on it, but they caused him more worry than he would like to admit. This was Ethan’s parting message, after all. It was simple and to the point, just…‘Be seeing you’. Crumpling it up in his hand, he angrily tossed the offending paper away from him and marched out of the store. He just wanted to go home and forget tonight.

 

Angel was lounging comfortably on Buffy’s bed, waiting patiently for the blonde to appear. Her mother was still at work, which he was grateful for, and Buffy had been desperate to go home and change into some normal clothes. He was resting on his back, his weight resting on his elbows as he stared at her door, waiting for her to come back.

Hearing the water of her bathroom sink turn off, he sat up and smiled as she walked through the door wearing a comfy tank top and sweats.

“Tada,” she grinned, “Just little old 20th century me.”

“You sure you’re okay?” he asked softly. She merely shrugged and sat next to him.

“I’ll live.”

“I don’t get it Buffy,” he sighed, sitting up a little straighter. “Why did you think I’d like you better dressed this way?”

“I just wanted to be a real girl for once,” she murmured, looking down self-consciously. “The kind of fancy girl you liked when you were my age.” She failed to see his eyes widen and his mouth quirk into a tiny, amused smile.

“Oh,” he replied, causing her to look up at him in confusion.

“What?” she questioned, her brow furrowed.

“I hated the girls back then,” he explained with a grin. “Especially the noble women.” He turned on to face her. “They were just incredibly dull. Simpering morons, the lot of them,” he added with a frown of remembrance. “I always wished I could meet someone…exciting,” he told her, taking her face in his hands, “interesting.”

“Interesting? Really?” she smiled shyly, batting her eyelashes. 

Angel grinned, “Definitely,” he assured her, pressing his lips to hers, his kiss almost a caress. Buffy relaxed at the feel of him, the events of that night tiring her out. She was just happy to spend whatever time she could in the comfort of Angel’s arms.

 

Xander sighed happily as he walked out of Sunnydale High, the silence surrounding him music to his ears. He understood that those children were scared and upset, but the crying, screaming, and general whining had begun to grate on his nerves. 

Stuffing his hands into his pants pockets, he ambled down the now deserted sidewalks. Tonight he had no worries about running into a vampire or some other nasty out to kill him. Halloween was quiet, well, it was supposed to be, and now that the drama was over it was quiet again. 

Something about tonight bothered him. He had been through this all before, nothing that happened, with the exception of Willow’s well-timed appearance, had really changed. Thus far, he had generally been able to go through life without caring about the people around him. Willow could take care of herself, as could Buffy, and he just didn’t give a damn what happened to Angel. But tonight, seeing Buffy pinned to the crate, Spike looming over her with every intention of draining her, he felt something he hadn’t in almost a year. He felt scared.

He wasn’t supposed to care about Buffy’s well-being. When they came back, he had every intention of never seeing her at all. But fate had screwed with him yet again and he was unwillingly thrust back into that same life he tried to avoid. Willow had managed to accept it all in stride, understanding that some things apparently couldn’t be changed and advised him to do the same. But he couldn’t, he railed against the idea with every ounce of will he possessed, and in turn pushed her further and further away from him. 

Willow didn’t confide in him as much anymore. At first it didn’t bother him; he was too wrapped up in his own pain to care. But as time went on and he slowly began to adjust to life back in Sunnydale, he longed for their late night talks, missed when she would share with him all her secrets. He knew it was his own fault, at least partly, but that didn’t make things easier. And she had something on her mind, something that worried her, and yet she didn’t say a word. He hoped she would tell him soon, it wasn’t good to keep things all bottled up. He knew that well. 

Looking up, Xander squinted when his eyes fell on the porch light of the Rosenberg house. He climbed the three steps up to the wooden porch and found his keys, fishing them out of his pocket and unlocking the door. He was only mildly surprised to note that the downstairs was completely enshrouded in darkness. He thought that Willow might still be up, maybe watching TV, doing something to unwind from the stress of the evening. And yet, the first floor was vacant. With an inward shrug he pulled himself up the stairs and dragged himself to the guest room, falling on the queen size bed with a groan. He just wanted to sleep, and at that moment he was envious of Willow. After all, she must be sleeping soundly in her own bed by now.

“We’re not done here.” His gravely tone caused the exhausted redhead to cringe as she remained rooted to her spot. 

Spike pushed himself off the doorframe, taking slow, deliberate steps into the now abandoned factory, his boots thudding with a resounding echo on the cement floor. He watched her carefully, his eyes in narrow slits. Her body was tense, muscles coiled and taut, her jaw clenched in a nervous gesture. For all the world, she looked strong and confident, if a little tired. But her ever expressive eyes betrayed her, and he couldn’t hold back the devilish grin that snaked its way onto his face. She was anxious, afraid. She did her best to keep her eyes level with his as he stalked toward her, but inevitably she lost their little contest of wills and she looked away. Little Red tried her best to show him she was unafraid, but he knew better, and he loved it.

“I’ve been having a bad night,” he commented off-handedly, bringing her gaze back to him as he stopped, only a few feet away. “A bad week actually, but who’s keeping track?” 

Willow studied him under hooded eyes, trying to keep her heart beating in a dull rhythm so as not to betray her frazzled nerves. She was failing, she knew. She could tell by the look on his face, he knew he was getting to her. 

“Do we really have to do this tonight?” she asked, biting her lip. The redhead was trying her best to regain her confidence. She was a powerful witch; she shouldn’t be frightened by some vampire. But this wasn’t some vampire. This was Spike, and not the laughing, teasing Spike she had encountered as of late. He was serious, angry, and even she knew it would be foolish to trifle with him when he was like this. It would be suicide. 

“Yeah,” he told her gruffly. “We do.” He took a minute to look her over before shoving his hands into his duster pockets and tilting his head to the side, his lips thinning as he regarded her. 

“I came to this bloody town for one purpose,” he started; his voice low and she didn’t dare interrupt him. “The hellmouth was supposed to restore Dru, make her like she was before that mess in Prague. Plus there was the bonus of killing another slayer, that’s always fun.” He took a step forward, his face darkening. 

“But nothing’s worked out like I planned,” he continued. “Dru’s still weak, that blonde bint is still breathing, and I have the distinct feeling that I’m being played for a fool,” the last of the sentence was less a word and more of a growl. Willow flinched. “And you…everywhere I turn, there you are. Dusting my minions, ruining my plans, trying to hit me with a pipe,” he added with a furious glare. 

“Um, sorry?” she mumbled but the snarl that escaped him shut her up. He glared at her before shaking his head, disgruntled. 

“I can’t get you out of my sodding head! I see you and I think that I’ve met you before,” he told her, looming over the tiny redhead. “You tell me your name and it was already on the tip of my tongue. And then Dru tells me that things have changed, my *life* has changed, been toyed with, and I’m willing to bet that you, witch, are behind it!”

Her mouth had gone dry at this point and her eyes darted around the room, never settling on him. “I haven’t done anything to you.” She was a horrible liar, but she thought that came out sincere. And it was partially true. She hadn’t done anything to *him* personally. Sure, she had cast a spell and in avertedly changed his past, but she hadn’t meant to. Good intentions counted for something, right?

He searched her eyes, looking for any sign of deception and surprisingly enough found none. With a heavy sigh, he sat with a thud on a nearby crate, the wood creaking from his weight. He grabbed her arm and pulled her down beside him, resting his head in one of his hands.

“I hate this bloody town,” he muttered, rubbing his temples as he felt the beginning of a headache coming on. 

Willow sat to his left, glancing at him from underneath her eyelashes. He looked tired, she had to admit. It had been a rather hard evening for them all it seemed. On impulse she reached out, absently patting him on the knee, whispering a shallow, “there, there.” 

Spike had been drawn into his thoughts, wondering if he was imagining all those things that had been driving him crazy the past few weeks. But Dru swore that things had been changed, the world had been changed, and her visions weren’t wrong. He heard the girl next to him shift and felt her light touch on his knee, the warmth from her hand heating him for a moment. He heard her muffled words of feigned comfort and froze, his body stilling unnaturally. 

A sudden feeling of vertigo came over him, a dizziness he couldn’t shake. He closed his eyes shut tightly, hands to his head as something, something that felt distinctly like a memory, washed over him, filling his senses.

 

~He was in a factory, the smell of ash and charcoal pervading his senses. He was seated on a bed, the linens crumpled and singed. Feeling a presence beside him, he turned his head to the left, eyes blurry. That redhead was next to him, her hair a bit shorter, wearing some fuzzy pink number. She was looking down at the floor, tears scenting the air. Her fear was a palpable thing, making his demon fight for control.

Spike heard himself sniffle and choke a sob back. God, he looked broken. 

“It was that truce with Buffy that did it,” he muttered to the shaken redhead. “Dru said I’d gone soft. Wasn’t demon enough for the likes of her. And I said it didn’t mean anything,” he hastened to explain. “I was thinking of her the whole time, but she didn’t care. So, we got to Brazil, and she was…she was just…different. I gave her everything: beautiful jewels, beautiful dresses, with beautiful girls in them. But nothing made her happy,” he murmured pitifully. “And she would *flirt*!” he chuckled humorlessly. “I caught her on a park bench making out with a *chaos* demon. Have you ever seen a chaos demon? They’re all slime and antlers, they’re disgusting,” he sneered.

He reached out a hand, petting her hair gently, smiling at the softness.

“She only did it to hurt me,” he mumbled, reluctantly removing his hand. “So I said, ‘I’m not putting up with this anymore!’ And she said ‘Fine’. And I said, ‘Yeah, I’ve got an unlife, too, you know’. And then she said…she said we could still be friends.” After his depressing admission he burst into fresh tears, leaning his head on her shoulder, breathing in her calming scent. “God, I’m so unhappy.”

Willow looked at the top of his head nervously. Having a vampire that close to your neck has a tendency to make one a little on edge. She extended one hand, gently, hesitantly, patting his knee. “There, there…” she said shakily. ~

 

Spike’s eyes shot open, blue bleeding into yellow as he jerked his head sharply to the left. Willow was staring at him with wide eyes.

“Are-e you okay?” she asked with a hitch in her voice. He had spaced out for a minute and she was tempted to make a run for it, but he woke from his stupor before she had a chance to move. 

He didn’t answer her, instead he continued studying her, but what he was looking for she was unsure. It was unnerving to say the least. He didn’t know what to make of her, now especially, so he merely continued looking at her, observing with a critical eye. 

“Why did you think I was in love with Drusilla?” he finally spoke, his question seemingly coming out of the blue. 

“W-Well, I mean,” she stammered, looking away from him. “You showed up here, with her, I just a-assumed you were together. It’s bad to assume, I know. You know what they say, when you assume you make an ass out of you and me…clever, huh?” she rambled, her hands flitting about.

“Did you know…” he commented in a low rumble, extending his hand to run through her hair gently, “that when you lie, you get this nervous twitch at the corner of your mouth,” his other hand reached toward her face, his finger grazing past her lips. “Right…about…there…” She flinched at his touch, eyes darting to his face, expecting to see amusement or teasing on his features and was dismayed when she only saw traces of confusion, frustration, and anger. Willow tried to shy away from his hand that still petted her hair, but he kept her in her place.

“Bring back memories for you, love?” he murmured, eyes blazing. “You? Me? A factory?” He narrowed his eyes as her heartbeat picked up and he growled low in his throat. “You’re a horrible liar, Red. Your poker face ain’t bad, but your body betrays you. *You* know what I’m talking about, and whether you like or not, pet, you’re gonna share. I *don’t* enjoy feeling like I’m someone’s bloody puppet.” She tried to stand, to evade his grasp, but he was too quick.

Wrapping her hair harshly in his fist he stood, jerking her closer to him as she yelped. By now he was so agitated that he was in game face, teeth glinting in the soft light as he glared down at her. “What the hell is going on?!”

Panicking slightly, Willow pushed at his chest, her palms flat as she felt the magic flow through her and closed her eyes for a second. When she opened them, her eyes were completely black. 

“Let. Go,” she ordered, her voice more of a purr than a bark as she pressed her hands harder against him. His golden eyes widened in surprise as he felt a wave of magic pass over him right before he was thrown across the expanse of the factory, hitting the farthest wall with a sickening crack. 

Willow appeared to be almost as in shock as he was, but shook it off quickly. With a coughing breath, she turned on her heel and ran; her breathing labored. Spike watched her run, his vision bleary. He blinked a few times, shaking his head and groaning and snarling to himself as he pulled his body off the ground. She got away. With a furious roar, he grabbed the nearest object, a heavy crate, and lifted it over his head without effort, flinging it across the room and listening with a tiny amount of satisfaction as it splintered and broke. It made him feel a little bit better. But it didn’t change a thing, she still got away.

“Damn it!”


	6. Chapters 18-22

Chapter Eighteen:

 

Willow made it to her house faster than she ever thought she could. Slamming the front door behind her, she cringed when she remembered that Xander was sleeping upstairs. She paused at the foot of the stairs, listening for any sounds that would signal that she had woken her friend. There were none. For the second time that night she heaved a thankful sigh and trudged up the stairs. 

Changing into her pajamas, a simple pair of loose cotton pants in blue and a white tank, she looked to her balcony doors and beyond. Nights like this, when her mind was going a mile a minute, she loved to sit out on her balcony under the stars and let her mind wander. She was tempted to do that now, but hesitated when she reached for the doorknob. The night wasn’t safe; especially when one has an extremely willful and stubborn demon on your heels. So the balcony was a no go.

Looking to her desk, she settled for pulling out her computer chair and dragging it to the French doors so she could still look out at the moon. Sitting down and pulling her knees up to her chest, she rested her chin on her knees and took in her surroundings. Her eyes fell on the moon above, a glowing crescent in the sky. This was around the time she met Oz. But it hadn’t happened yet, she was starting to wonder if that was a good thing. Maybe it would be best not to see Oz, to spare herself the inevitable heartbreak. But they say, ‘It is better to have loved and lost than to never have loved at all.’ But maybe that was a crock. Who got to decide what’s better? She remembered the pain of their break up to this day and seriously questioned if it had been worth it. She had spent months moping and crying, barely existing, she was just…there. They say the definition of stupidity is doing the same thing over and over again and expecting different results. Whoever ‘they’ were, they were certainly a confused bunch. 

As if finding a way to deal with Oz wasn’t stressing enough, her confrontation with Spike had left her shaken. Every other time they had encountered each other before, they would verbally spar, tease and taunt, but nothing serious ever came of it. Sure, there was the occasional disturbing revelation, like Angelus being Spike’s sire, the blonde not being in love with Drusilla, and the fact that he seemed to know her name for some unknown reason. But tonight was the first time she had seen him legitimately angry. She supposed she could sympathize. It would drive her crazy to feel like her life had been toyed with so casually, to feel like she had no control over what was happening in her own life. She wanted nothing more than to put him at ease, to assure him that she meant no harm and that he wasn’t being played. 

Trouble was she wasn’t sure if that was the truth. For all she knew, all of them were pawns, mere playthings in the game of life, tools of amusement for the Powers that Be. She never thought them to be cruel, but from what she heard from Angel and his gang, they were big on rules. Maybe her spell had ruffled a few feathers up there; maybe this was punishment for playing God. Then again, maybe this was a reward. Things had been so hard before, and while they had managed to defeat the First, they lost Anya, they lost Spike. And Spike had been a warrior for the Powers, they all were. They were needed, the world depended on them. Maybe whatever changes were made were for the best. 

Then again, there was another completely different scenario, one that made her shiver in fear. There was only one other ‘being’ that had the power to pull off life changing events like this. The First. It had more power than they ever gave it credit for. After all, it managed to bring Angel back from Hell, cause dementia and hallucinations, use mind control, and Willow was willing to bet those were mere parlor tricks. If the First was behind this, the world might be doomed and she wasn’t sure if there was a damn thing she could do about it. But surely the Powers wouldn’t let that happen. They saved Angel when the First had driven him to suicide; they wouldn’t just abandon them all because she screwed up. 

“Wills?” muttered a sift voice from her doorway. The redhead turned in her chair, smiling tiredly at Xander who rubbed his eyes and walked through the door, plopping down on her bed. 

“What are you doing up, sleepyhead?” she murmured.

“You woke me up,” he explained, his voice slightly muffled. “You’re thinking too loud.” Her reluctant giggle calmed him and he sat up a bit to rest on his elbows. 

“Sorry,” she whispered, eyes falling to her feet. 

“Not a problem, I’m used to it,” he assured her with a tiny grin. “What’s going on in that head of yours?”

“It’s all tangled in there, Xan,” she said, tapping the side of her head with her index finger. “Not much is making sense.”

“Talk to me,” he pleaded gently, “You know no one can understand your rambling better than me. So try me.” She remained silent and he took the time to look her over. She looked haggard, exhausted and troubled. “Something’s going on with you, Wills. You’ve been keeping it to yourself, but you don’t have to. I’m here for you. I know, I’ve been distant and a pain in the ass these past few weeks, but I’m doing better now. I promise. But you’ve been hiding something from me and I need to know what it is.”

“Things here are all wrong,” Willow told him, green eyes looking at him under fluttering eyelashes. “You already know about how Spike’s past is all different, but…I wish that were all that was happening. Something’s going on with him, and I don’t know what is causing it.” 

“How do you know all this?” he asked, trying to keep his voice neutral. Truthfully, he had a grudging respect for Spike, more than he would ever have for Angel, but that didn’t change the fact that this wasn’t the Spike who saved the world. This one lived to destroy it. 

“We’ve literally run into each other a few times,” she said with a dismayed shake of her head. “But ever since we first saw him at the Bronze, I knew there was something up with him. Didn’t you see it? When he looked at me? At us? There was this flash, call it recognition or whatever, but it was there. Ever since, I’ve spoken with him a few times. Our conversations were never anything to write home about. Just usually a lot of taunting and showing off on both our parts. But he knew…he knew my name Xan. I know that may not sound like much, but it even shocked him. He’s suspicious. Hell, he’s a lot more than suspicious; he knows there’s something going on. And he wants answers. But I can’t give him any, it will only cause trouble, right?” she finished, glancing at him with begging eyes, pleading with him to agree with her.

“What do you mean he knows? How could he know?”

“Dru’s a seer, Xander. He mentioned something about her…that she said his life had been changed, toyed with. He’s pissed, Xan. I mean *really* pissed.” She took one last look out her window and then disentangled herself from her chair, deciding she wanted to pace the floor. “But that’s not it. We were talking and it was like he completely zoned out, like he was there but not, and when he came to he was angry. I don’t know what happened, but he mentioned something about the factory. About me and him in a factory together, he remembered. It was like he remembered that night he kidnapped us, but that’s not possible. I mean, there’s no way he could know. Right?” her voice had a hysterical pitch to it now and Xander reached out, pulling her to sit on the bed and into his arms.

“Shhh,” he murmured, encouraging her to rest her head on his shoulder as he rocked her gently back and forth. He felt her slowly begin to relax and he closed his eyes.

“This is all my fault,” he mumbled, looking down at the frightened woman he was holding and feeling horrible for putting her through this. “I was selfish and stupid. We used to tell you that magic could never solve your problems,” he chuckled humorlessly. “Then what do I do? The second the world officially becomes unbearable, I have you do a spell for me. I’m such a damn hypocrite.”

“Don’t say that, Xan,” she told him, sniffling a bit and pulling away from him. 

“It’s true.” He didn’t argue his point any further. That was all he had to say. Because of him, they were living in an even more screwed up version of Sunnydale, without even the secure friendships from before. Sure, Buffy was their friend, but there was still distance between them all. He and Buffy hadn’t grown close, Angel treated Willow like she was a threat, and Giles was brisk with both of them. It wasn’t the same. Even though that was what he had wanted, a change, he wasn’t happy. Because, damn it, he missed the way it used to be. 

“Do you think Spike’s going to become a problem?” he asked softly.

“No, he’s not going to become a problem,” she replied sadly. “He already is one. He’s determined to find out what’s going on, and you know how persistent he is. And can you blame him? We messed with his life, Xan. It wasn’t on purpose, but we changed his past, and possibly his future. He saved the world, Xander. Who’s to say he will this time?”

Willow looked down at her now clasped hands, her breath coming in slow, even sighs. “What if we ruined everything?” she whispered, her voice catching. 

“We didn’t Will,” he assured her, his words hollow and uncertain. “We couldn’t have.” His fingers moved to rub his temples to ease the headache that was coming on. “So how do we keep Spike from finding out the truth?”

“I don’t know,” she shrugged. “Maybe we should just bite the bullet and tell him. He has a right to know what happened to him.”

“That’s crazy!” he exclaimed, “He’s not going to just sit there and let you explain, rationally and logically. He’s not the Spike we’ve known for the past two or three years. He’ll keep you alive long enough for you to tell him what he wants to know, and then he’ll kill you, for revenge, for fun, who knows? That’s how he works, you know this. Don’t be naïve.”

“You didn’t see him tonight, Xan,” she reminded him, glancing his way. “Yes, he was angry, we’re talking furious, but more than anything, he was scared. The one thing Spike hates is losing control. He thinks he isn’t even in control of his own life anymore. I’m not saying we should tell him everything. But he deserves to know what we did. Apparently, we aren’t the only ones paying for our mistakes.” 

The brunette opened his mouth to argue, but he shut it immediately. He wanted to scream some sense into her, but in all honesty, he knew she was right. Spike deserved nothing less than the truth, they did screw with his life, after all. He only hoped they wouldn’t die for it.

 

Chapter Nineteen: Lie to Me

 

The next few days were tense but thankfully uneventful. Willow was reluctantly relieved that she had not had any further run-ins with Spike. But that was a reprieve that would soon be over and she tried her best to think of how to break the news to him. How do you tell a murderous vampire that you are from the future, where said vampire had a soul and saved the world all for the love of a slayer, and performed a spell that reversed time and unwittingly changed his past? It’s not your everyday occurrence. 

She and Xander forwent patrol again that Monday night, instead deciding to stay in. They had been doing that, spending the evenings at Willow’s just talking. They needed that, time to get to know each other again. Between the apocalypse, a life-altering spell, depression, and fear, the two best friends had grown distant. But Xander finally seemed to become like his old self once more and they used nights like this like therapy. They exercised their demons, figurative only, and began to grow closer. Just like old times. 

As it was, while they became reacquainted with each other, yet another twosome was reunited.

 

“C’mon mom…” mumbled the young boy, no more than seven or eight. The tiny blonde glanced at his watch and bit his lip in worry. “She’s always late,” he reminded himself, although it was little comfort. The night made him nervous; call it imagination or paranoia, but something about this town seemed unusually dangerous. His mother always told him he watched too many scary movies. Maybe she was right. Even now, he swore there was some monster lurking in the shadows of the park.

“Are you lost?” cooed a sweet, quiet voice. The boy turned quickly toward the direction of the noise, surprised to see a woman approaching him. She didn’t appear threatening, her features were soft, her voice lilting, but the voice inside his head told him to be wary. 

“No, my mom’s just supposed to pick me up is all,” he told her before stepping away from her and climbing on the children’s gym feet away.

“Do you want me to walk you home?” she asked kindly, head tilted to the side.

“No, thank you,” he replied courteously. His mother always told him good manners were important.

“My mummy used to sing me to sleep at night,” she murmured, gliding toward him, her hands skimming over the cold metal of the play gym, her eyes never leaving his. “Run and catch…the lamb is caught in the blackberry patch…” she sang softly, her eyes cloudy over. “She had the sweetest voice. What will your mummy sing when they find your body?” Her conversational tone gave him pause. 

“Um, I’m not supposed to talk to people…” he informed her nervously, his voice trembling a bit.

“Oh. Well, I’m not a person, see, so that’s…” she started, attempting to take a step closer to the boy before she was intercepted. Her brown eyes narrowed but soon were wide with surprise. Her calculating grin turned gleeful as she recognized the boy’s would-be rescuer.

“Run home,” the dark haired stranger demanded, looking at the young boy sternly. The blonde wasted no time and took off into the night. Drusilla couldn’t help but pout as she saw her evening meal run away, but soon enough her attention returned to the vampire in front of her.

“My Angel…” she grinned, moving closer to him.

“Hello Drusilla,” he said softly, holding her gaze. He could detect a trace of sanity in those depths, but it was quickly masked by the insanity he had placed there.

“Do you remember the song mummy used to sing me? Pretty…” she asked, twirling her hair with her fingers. 

“I remember,” he assured her, his tone not revealing his churning emotions. His throat was choked up, just at the sight of her. She was beautiful, delicate, almost breakable, but in reality she was anything but. She had been broken once before, by him no less, and had never truly been repaired. It was hard for him to look into the face that represented all the awful things he had done as Angelus. 

“Yes, you do…” she agreed with a small nod.

“Drusilla, leave here. I’m offering you that chance. Take Spike and get out,” he ordered gently, his tone never harsh. Yelling at her wouldn’t do any good. She’d probably think it was just a game.

“Or you’ll hurt me?” she wondered with a reminiscent half-smile. He looked down immediately, his gaze focused on the ground beneath him. She smiled sadly and watched her sire closely. “No. No, you can’t. Not anymore.”

“If you don’t leave it’ll go badly. For all of us.” He tried in vain to reason with her, but he knew it was useless. He had secrets, secrets he hadn’t told Buffy, ones that could destroy their relationship. Unfortunately, Dru and Spike were two of those secrets and it looked like they were setting up shop in Sunnydale. 

“My dear boy’s gone away, hasn’t he? To her,” she whispered with a frown, her eyes sad. This was the only man who ever mattered to her. There was Spike too, but it was different with him, a different kind of love. He was her protector. But Angel was her sire, her love, her everything. She was what he made her. And he wasn’t hers any longer. No, he belonged to her. To that slayer. And it made her heart ache. 

 

Buffy dusted herself off and looked around the rooftop she was now standing on. Hearing the murmur of voices in the distance, she walked to the edge of the rooftop. Looking down, she frowned when she saw Angel talking with a woman. A beautiful woman, who looked too comfortable with him. Biting her lip, she strained to hear their conversation.

 

“Who?” Angel asked even though he already knew the answer.

“The girl. The slayer,” Drusilla answered with a small growl. “Your heart stinks of her…” she mumbled, her hand on his chest with a frown. “Poor little thing. She has no idea what’s in store.”

“This can’t go on, Drusilla,” he pleaded. “It’s gotta end.” She cocked her head to the side, smiling slightly and leaning in closer. Angel froze but didn’t move away. He never could resist Dru for very long.

“Oh no, my pet. This is just the beginning…” she warned with a twitch of her lips. Her eyes fell to his lips and then back to his eyes, hovering close to him in an almost-kiss before pulling away with a grin. Instead of saying anything more, she simply turned on her heel and walked calmly out deeper into the park. Angel watched her leave, his expression morose, before he turned in the opposite direction and slinked away. 

Buffy watched them part, eyes full of confusion and hurt. Realizing there was nothing more to see, and too shaken to patrol, she left for home. She only hoped she’d be able to sleep tonight without thinking about Angel, her Angel, and the mystery woman. 

 

Willow followed Buffy out the classroom that Tuesday, doing her best to be supportive as the blonde told her about the woman she had seen Angel with the night before. She did the usual nodding and ‘uh huhs’ and other wise kept her mouth shut. Buffy would find out soon enough who Drusilla really was and her relationship with Angel and Willow really didn’t want to be the one to break the news to her. It wasn’t her place. Besides, right now all Buffy needed was a friend, not advice.

They sat on the couch in the newly refurbished lounge when Xander bounded up the steps to join them with a smile. A smile which quickly vanished when he saw the look on the slayer’s face.

“Hey, why so glum Buff?” She shrugged and looked at her joined hands that sat on her lap. Willow glanced over the blonde’s head to Xander, mouthing ‘Angel’ and smirking when he rolled his eyes and nodded with a sigh.

“You just need cheering up. And I know just the thing!” he assured her, his enthusiasm causing Buffy to look up. “Crazed dance party at the Bronze!” he suggested with a grin. When she didn’t respond he tried again. “Very calm dance party at the Bronze?” She continued to pout and he fell to the couch opposite them with a sigh. “Moping at the Bronze?”

“I’d suggest a box of oreos dunked in apple juice, but maybe she’s over that phase…” offered a familiar voice. While Xander and Willow hid a cringe, Buffy jumped up and spun around, the sadness on her face vanishing at the sight of the young man standing there.

“Ford?” she asked in surprise. Standing there, he looked like the usual description of the all-American boy. Brown hair that fell around his ears, tucked behind them neatly, shining coffee colored eyes that danced with amusement, full lips quirked in a tiny smile. He didn’t look like the boy who wanted to trade his old friend’s life to gain immortality. That was the problem these days. It was harder and harder to distinguish the enemy. He merely grinned and opened his arms, pulling her close.

“Hey Summers,” he greeted with a bright smile. “How’ve you been?”

“Oh my God! What are you doing here?” she demanded with a smack on his arm, her smile uncontrollable. 

“Uh, matriculating?” he replied with a chuckle. “I’m finishing out my senior year at Sunnydale. My dad got transferred,” he told her with a grin. 

“This is great!” she exclaimed with an excited grin. She glanced behind her and suddenly realized how rude she was being. “Oh! I’m sorry. Um guys, this is Ford,” she introduced Willow and Xander. “Billy Fordham. Ford, this is Xander and Willow.” They quietly nodded their greetings and remained silent. Buffy frowned at their lack of a response but shrugged their cold demeanor off. “Hey,” she said, returning her attention to the newcomer. “Are you busy tonight? We’re going to the Bronze, it’s the local club. You have to come.”

“I’d love to,” he replied with a nervous glance towards Willow and Xander. “But if you guys already have plans…would I be imposing?”

“Only in the most literal sense,” muttered Xander snidely, but the other boy didn’t hear his biting comment.

“Of course not!” declared Buffy, entwining her arm with his.

“Okay then, I uh…I gotta find the admissions office. Get my papers in order,” he explained with an apprehensive glance. 

“Well, you know what, I’ll take you there. Oh, and I’ll see you guys in French,” she called over her shoulder as she led Ford away, the pair chatting animatedly. 

Willow watched them walk away blankly. Xander glared at the boy’s back one last time before glancing to the floor and then to Willow. The redhead ran her hand through her hair and rested her head in her hands. 

“So…he’s back,” Xander stated, moving to join Willow on the couch. 

“Yup,” she agreed. 

“Do we stop him from making a deal with Spike?” he asked softly. Biting her lip, gnawing indelicately on the flesh, as she thought it over. She didn’t see how they could stop him. Talking to him wouldn’t make a difference. Buffy probably wouldn’t believe them if they told her his plan. Angel didn’t trust Willow enough to really listen to her, neither did Giles. The only person left to confront would be Spike and she really didn’t want to seek him out. Even if she could find where he was hiding out, that conversation was destined to end badly; that was a confrontation she wanted to postpone as long as possible. So the decision was practically made for her. With a shrug, she looked to Xander. 

“No.” 

 

Chapter Twenty:

 

Buffy excused herself and weaved her way through the dense crowd in the Bronze. Xander and Ford were busy playing pool, Willow watching and cheering on her best friend as expected. Feeling a sudden thirst come over her, the slayer headed to the bar, pausing mid-step when she saw a familiar face waiting there.

“Hi,” she greeted with a forced smile. If Angel noticed her sour mood, he didn’t say anything. 

“Hey, I was hoping you’d show,” he said, happy to see her. He granted her one of those rare smiles but she wasn’t in the mood to appreciate it. 

“Yeah…” she murmured, her comment followed by a noticeable lull in conversation. Sighing in frustration, Buffy decided to just ask her important question, just get it over with. “So, um, what did you do last night?” she did her best to sound casual. 

“Nothing,” he shrugged, his cotton clad shoulders hunching.

“Nothing at all?” she inquired with a disbelieving glance. “You ceased to exist?”

“No,” he replied, his brow furrowed in confusion at her attitude. “I mean I stayed in, read.” There was no need to let her know about his association with Drusilla and Spike, hopefully Dru will have taken his advice by now and be long gone, Spike in tow, by now. She wouldn’t he knew, but he could dream.

“Oh,” she mumbled, feeling disappointment and something she couldn’t identify sweep over her at his denial. Without another word she turned and started back toward the pool tables, seeing that the trio she had left behind was watching her intently. She smiled at Ford, who glanced at the tall stranger that was now following Buffy back from the bar.

“Hi,” the new boy said, extending his hand to the stranger as he looked him up and down.

“This is Ford,” Buffy explained with a perfunctory look to Angel. “We went to school in L.A. together.”

“Nice to meet you,” the vampire offered, jaw only slightly clenched. 

“Whoa! Cold hands…” Ford observed, pulling back a little.

“You’re not wrong,” snorted Xander, earning him twin sets of glares from Buffy and Willow. 

“So, you here visiting Buffy?” Angel hoped, wanting nothing more than to be assured that soon enough this pretty boy would be leaving. He didn’t like the way the kid looked at Buffy, all moony-eyed. Doing his best to stop from glowering at the boy, he waited for an answer.

“No, actually I’m here to stay,” Ford replied with a grin. “Just moved down.” Angel simply nodded but Willow, who was observing the pair closely, could practically hear the low rumble of a growl coming from Angel, even as he tried to stifle it. 

“Y’know, it’s getting really crowded in here tonight,” Buffy interrupted the awkward conversation hesitantly. Facing her old friend, she tried to smile brightly. “Um…I’m a little hot. You wanna take a walk?” He agreed eagerly and the slayer gathered her things as quickly as possible. Before Angel could even blink, she and Ford were out the door.

“Okay…” Xander drawled as he watched Angel fix the door with a furious glare. “Once more with the tension…”

“He just moved here?” Angel demanded, turning back to Willow, the tone of his voice urgent. 

“Yeah,” Xander answered for her with a roll of his eyes. “And boy does he move fast.”

“Xan!” Willow hissed in reprimand, smacking him on the arm before trying to reassure Angel. “But don’t worr–” she started, frowning when she realized she was talking to thin air. She sighed and glared at the spot Angel had previously been standing in. “I hate when he does that…”

 

Buffy was glad to be out of the stuffy club. It felt like the walls had been closing in on her. She needed the fresh air, well, as fresh as air got in southern California, smog and all. Ford was at her side as they shared a companionable silence. A muffled screech and the sounds of a struggle caused Buffy to stop suddenly, and listen. Hearing another, slightly closer, scream she turned to Ford, seeing him looking at her in confusion.

“Purse!” she shouted, saying the first thing that came to her. “My purse. I left in the Bronze! Can you, like, go back and grab it for me?” she asked, words spilling from her mouth quickly. Not waiting for a response, she pushed him away toward the club before running off in the opposite direction. Shrugging, the brunette went to go back inside, nearly running into a crying woman who had just bolted out of the alley. 

Halting his steps, Ford snuck toward the mouth of the alley, poking his head around the corner and nearly jumping when a metal trash can flew out of no where and hit the wall across from him. He watched in fascination, his brown eyes gleaming from the streetlight, as Buffy fought a man. No, not a man, he corrected himself. No man had ridges and fangs like that. But from the looks of it, she was winning, so he remained in the shadows, not wanting to distract her. 

Kicking the vampire harshly, knocking him back into the brick wall, Buffy thrust her stake out, her aim true as it pierced his chest, straight through to the heart. She pushed her hair out of her face as she saw the demon turn to dust and drift away in the breeze. Seeing that her job was done, she went to leave, freezing when she saw Ford standing there a few feet away.

“Uh, there…there was a cat,” she tried to explain, afraid of his reaction to what he saw. “A cat here, and…um…then there was a-another cat…and they fought. The cats,” she clarified, inwardly cringing at her lame speech. “And…then they left…”

“Oh,” he replied with a tiny smile. “I just thought you were slaying a vampire.” He said that in such a cavalier manner that she was immediately taken aback.

“What? Whatting a what?” she stammered, unsure how to respond to his blunt statement.

“You don’t have to lie, Buffy,” he told her, his tone quiet and soothing. “I know. I’ve been trying to figure out the right time t-to tell you. I know you’re the slayer…”

Buffy waited for the standard, you’re crazy lecture, or maybe his laughter, but neither came. Instead, she found understanding on his handsome face. Grinning in relief, she returned to his side, the twosome talking softly about how he figured it all out as she walked him home. She was just so happy she didn’t have to fear him finding out her secret any longer. She never wanted to lie to him. After all, he would never lie to her.

 

Ford waited ten minutes after Buffy left before slipping out his bedroom window. His parents had long since fallen asleep and he had people to see, plans to make. He easily navigated the darkened streets of Sunnydale with little effort, grinning when he saw the shadowy buildings ahead in the warehouse district. 

He almost shook his head at the choice of location; an old, forgotten bomb shelter in the rundown part of the warehouse district, such a typical den of evil. It was so ridiculously predictable it gave him a headache. But the people that visited it were also sadly predictable. No one in that building had an original thought in their head, but he was okay with that. It would be to his advantage in the end. 

Walking up to a steel door, which he already knew would be locked, he rapped sharply. A small section of the metal was moved to the side as a man, or his eyes, observed the newcomer. Without saying a word the door was swung open and Ford stepped inside, descending the staircase slowly as a boy, looking more like a magician than a teenager, accompanied by a curvy blonde, greeted him.

“Well? How’d it go?” the boy asked eagerly.

“It went good,” Ford replied vaguely, knowing Marvin, or was it Diego now, would be dying for details.

“Good? That’s it?” Diego asked incredulously. “That’s all we know? When are we…”

“Soon,” Ford murmured, quickly growing bored with this conversation. He only stopped here tonight because he had to, but soon he would be out the door. He had important business to attend to. “Everything’s gonna be fine. Just make sure you’re ready when I say,” he reminded him sternly. “True believers only.”

“I can’t wait!” the woman, Chantrelle, exclaimed excitedly, earning a smile from Ford and a roll of the eyes from Diego.

“A couple more days,” sighed Ford, losing himself in his thoughts, “and we’ll get to do the two things every American teen should have the chance to do: die young and stay pretty…”

 

Spike sat, one leg thrown over the arm of the high backed chair in the large room of the factory he used as a meeting hall. He was tempted to go into town, to hunt, but didn’t feel like it at the moment. Besides, he had business that needed taking care of. That minion, the smart one, Dalton something-or-other, may have found something useful in his quest to heal Dru, to make her strong. 

“You,” he said suddenly, pointing to a bleached blonde minion who had just appeared from the hall. She paid him complete attention, golden eyes fixed on his. “I’ve got a job for you. Feeling up to a little breaking and entering?” he grinned when she straightened and awaited his instructions eagerly. 

After giving her the assignment, he dismissed her, watching out of the corner of his eye as she darted out of the factory and out to find what he needed. Glad that it was taken care of for the time being, he sat back in his chair. 

Too soon his satisfied demeanor faded. He was bored. Dru was busy playing with Miss Edith, he didn’t feel hungry, so hunting was out, and he couldn’t stand the idea of conversing with the morons he was surrounded with, useless, the lot of them. So what was a demon to do? 

Normally a spot of torture would make for a good night, but he wasn’t in the mood. He hadn’t been himself for a few days now. Not since the fiasco on Halloween. He had tried to find the redhead again, desperate to find out what she had done to him, to find out what kind of spell he could be under, but she was no where to be found. Seems the little witch had went into hiding, smart chit. 

But sadly that left him without answers. So now, he was stuck in the factory, brooding again, which was bloody tiring, he might add. He only hoped that soon he would find that redhead, if not tonight, then maybe tomorrow. Because he wasn’t sure of he could stand much more of this. He hated that she knew something he didn’t, knowledge was power, after all. And right now, she had all the power. But that wouldn’t last for long if he had anything to say about it. 

 

Angel was walking and brooding, a talent he had perfected to the letter. Hands stuffed in his coat pocket, head down, he continued down the scarcely populated streets of Sunnydale. Normally he would be patrolling with Buffy right about now, listening to her talk, not really paying attention, just delighting in hearing her voice. But not tonight. No, tonight she was busy with Ford. 

He didn’t trust the little brat. That seemed to be a reoccurring theme in his life as of late. He didn’t trust Xander, or Willow, but especially not Ford. He seemed too eager to please, too…something. He just couldn’t put his finger on it. And it had nothing to do with the fact that he and Buffy had a past. No, he wasn’t jealous of their closeness at all. His concerns had nothing to do with petty jealousy. Oh screw it, he was jealous, there he admitted it. Angel was so used to being the center of Buffy’s world; he was the only thing she saw when he stepped into a room. But tonight she had barely spoken to him, instead leaving with Ford after a perfunctory hello. 

Passing by the high school which was dark, like it was supposed to be, he looked up at the sound of a scuffle. Eyes narrowing the vampire abandoned his sullen walk and ran toward the right side of the building, near the quad. Preparing himself for battle, his footsteps faltered and then stopped completely at the sight before him. 

There was a blonde vampire on the ground, obviously caught sneaking about the campus. She was in game face and looking nervously at the cross that was held only a few inches away from her face by the boy straddling her. Angel watched the scene intently, seeing a glint in the boy’s eyes that worried him. He snuck closer to the pair, now able to clearly hear the harsh breathing coming from Ford and the anxious growls from the girl.

“You’ve got one chance to live,” Ford warned her, his face set in a mask of elation, this was so cool. “Tell me what I want to know…and I’ll let you go…” he told her, pausing at the perfect moments, pressing the stake he held in his left hand closer to her chest. Angel strained to hear, he needed to know what the brat was up to. He was trouble, now he only had to prove it. 

“I want to know where your master is,” Ford demanded, Angel’s eyes widening in surprise. “I want to know how to find Spike…” 

 

Chapter Twenty-One:

 

Angel was pacing, back and forth, back and forth, only stopping when he heard the knock on his apartment door. Crossing the room quickly, he swung open the door and smiled nervously at the tiny blonde waiting there. He stepped aside to let her in and closed the door behind him.

“What’s this about?” Buffy asked bluntly, still annoyed with him for not telling her about his little confrontation with that woman in the park.

“Ford’s not who you think he is,” he told her, ignoring her attitude. This was more important than whatever she was mad at him for. “Tonight, after you left, I was walking and I ran into him, well, I saw him, but he didn’t know I was there. Anyway, he was there with this vamp--” he rambled, sounding so unlike himself.

“You were spying on him?” Buffy asked incredulously. “Look I know you’re all–jealous or whatever–but you have no right to follow around my friend! I--” she raged at him, indignant that he had the nerve to accuse her old friend of something, what she wasn’t too clear on just yet. 

“I wasn’t spying on him,” Angel interrupted her rant with an annoyed sigh. “Will you just listen to me? I heard fighting, outside the school. I went to help whoever was being attacked but when I got there; Ford was standing over this vampire.”

“So, he took out a vamp. What’s the big deal?” she barked, arms crossed over her chest. She couldn’t believe Angel called her in the middle of the night for this. 

“He didn’t stake her,” he growled. “Your little friend there let her go.”

“Why?” Buffy asked softly, growing more and more confused. Why would Ford just let a demon go? 

“Information,” he replied tightly. “She told him what he wanted to know and he let her live.”

“What did he want to know?” the slayer asked, her voice hollow, trying to hide her worry.

“He wanted to know where he could find Spike,” he told her soberly. Her eyes widened and then dulled before she limply fell into his nearby chair. Her mind was racing as she struggled to find a reason for Ford’s need to see Spike. How did he know who Spike was in the first place? 

“You’re lying,” she whispered, desperate to believe that. 

“I wouldn’t lie to you,” he swore, kneeling in front of her. He was surprised when her eyes locked onto his, a hint of repressed anger in her gaze.

“You already have,” she accused, her face hard. He looked puzzled and she barely resisted the urge to smack him upside the head. “Who is she?” she demanded.

“She? Who?” Angel stammered, honestly lost. Weren’t they just talking about Ford? 

“The woman you were talking to last night, in the park,” she continued to glower at him as he began to recall the event she was speaking of. “You know, maybe a little taller than me, brunette, long white dress, awfully pale…who is she?”

“You were spying on me?” he replied lightly, trying to make her smile a little. He failed miserably. “I’m not sure you really want to know,” he confided quietly.

“I want to know, I can take the truth,” she told him without hesitation.

“Sometimes lies are necessary…sometimes the truth is much worse…” Seeing the stubborn set of her jaw he realized there was no way out of it. And truthfully, she had a right to know, about him, about Dru, about his past.

“I did a lot of unconscionable things as a vampire…Drusilla was the worst,” he started, his voice soft and shameful. “She was an obsession of mine. She was pure and sweet and chaste…” he remembered wistfully. Buffy shifted nervously in her chair at his faraway look.

“And you made her a vampire…” she finished numbly.

“First I visited every mental torture I could devise, made her insane, killed everyone she loved,” he couldn’t bear to look her in the eye, instead staring deeply into the carpet. “She eventually fled to a convent, and on the day she took her holy orders…I-I turned her into a demon…”

Silence reigned for minutes after his declaration, neither one knowing what to say. Angel was lost in memories, some so vivid it frightened him. Buffy was trying to deal with the idea of the man she loved doing such horrible things. But he wasn’t a man, she had to remind herself, he’s a demon. 

“I don’t know what he wants from you,” Angel finally spoke, returning to their discussion on Ford. “But he can’t be trusted. Whatever he wants from Spike, it can’t be good.”

Buffy could only nod and sit back, waiting for the feeling to return to her limbs so she could leave. Well, she had wanted the truth tonight and she got heaping loads of it. Maybe Angel was right, maybe sometimes lies were necessary.

Standing slowly, the blonde moved stiffly to the door, only stopping to look over her shoulder to Angel, who remained kneeling on the floor, unable to look her way. She was tempted to speak, to say something, although what she wasn’t sure. But exhaustion and weariness were tugging at her and she just wanted to be home. She had enough revelations for one day, she’d worry about Ford’s plan tomorrow, and right now she just needed to rest, hoping that sleep wouldn’t evade her. 

Angel waited silently when he noticed the sound of her footsteps halting, praying that she would say something, even if it was a simple goodnight. His spirits dropped when he heard her take a deep breath and open the door, leaving quietly, the click of the door her only goodbye.

 

The sun had risen a half hour ago and yet the factory was still filled with noise, talking, growling, the usual. What light there was accentuated grey walls made of concrete and not much else. The meeting hall was empty save one form. Leaning in close to a medium sized birdcage, the woman frowned and pouted, her long brown hair falling over her shoulders in soft waves. 

“You sing the sweetest little song. Won’t you sing for me, hmm? Don’t you love me anymore?” she whined softly, peering in to stare at the tiny bird lying on the bottom of the cage, unmoving and obviously dead.

Heavy footfalls could be heard behind her but she made no move to see who was approaching, still so focused on her darling little bird.

“Dru, I heard a funny thing just now,” called out Spike, striding confidently across the room, his voice boisterous but his eyes concerned. “Lucius tells me you went out on a hunt the other night.”

“My tummy was all growly…” she told him sweetly, “and you were out.” She ignored him once more, frowning slightly. “Come on,” she pleaded, whistling softly as if telling the bird that if she could do it, so could he. “I’ll pout if you don’t sing,” she threatened with a whimper.

“You, um, meet anyone?” he prompted gently, a hand on the small of her back as he tried to get her attention. “Anyone interesting? Like Angel?”

“Angel…” she sighed with a smile and he grinned when he realized he was getting through to her.

“Yeah, so…” he considered, eyes narrowing. “What might you guys have talked about then? Old times? Childhood pranks? It’s a little off, you two being so friendly, with him being the enemy and all…” He saw her eyes cloud over once more and inwardly groaned in frustration.

“I’ll give you a seed if you sing,” she offered as her focus drifted to the bird again.

“The bird’s dead Dru,” Spike said harshly, too annoyed to care about his tone of voice. “You left it in a cage, and you didn’t feed it, and now it’s all dead, just like the last one!” Only when he saw Dru cower and pull away from him did he realize his mistake.

“Oh, I’m sorry pet. I’m a bad, rude man,” he sighed, running a hand over his face. “I just don’t like you going out, that’s all. You’re weak,” he tried to reason with her, his voice gentle and reassuring. “Would you like a new bird?” he offered with a small smile when she beamed at him. “One that’s not dead?” 

He was relieved when she grinned and opened her mouth to speak, shutting it firmly when she was surprisingly interrupted.

“This is so cool,” said a new voice, one even Spike couldn’t recognize. Blue eyes bled into amber when he saw a young man step out from behind a stack of crates. The newcomer looked around the factory with a look of pure awe and the blonde couldn’t help but roll his eyes. “I could totally live here.”

“Do I have anyone on watch here?” Spike shouted, disgruntled. “It’s called security people! Is everyone asleep?!” He cocked his head to the side, staring at the mortal with a considering glance, a sly smirk creeping over his face. “Or did we finally find a restaurant that delivers?” he drawled as he stepped closer to the boy. 

“I know who you are,” Ford declared with a determined expression. Spike merely grinned and rolled his eyes.

“Yeah, I know who I am too. So what?” he countered with a glare. 

“I came looking for you Spike. You are Spike, right?” he added, a bit unsure, his earlier arrogance faltering a little. “William the bloody?” 

“You’ve got a real death wish,” chuckled Spike with a shake of his head. “It’s almost interesting…” He stopped his appraisal of the boy when the minion he sent out earlier finally appeared at his side, the blonde woman handing him the item he had requested. He grinned widely as he leafed through the old tome, fingering the pages gently. “Oh, this is great. Very useful,” he muttered before remembering his guest. “So how did you find me?”

“That’s not important,” Ford rushed to assure, glancing at the blonde he had almost staked before and looking away quickly. “I’ve got something to offer you.” He waited a beat, a slightly disappointed frown crossing his face when Spike remained silent. “I’m pretty sure this is the part where you take out a watch and tell me I have thirty seconds to convince you not to kill me…it’s traditional,” he explained with a grin.

“Well,” Spike growled as he slammed the book closed and strode quickly to the boy, “I don’t go much for tradition,” he hissed as he grabbed him by the ear, lifting him up slightly, ignoring the boy’s gasp of pain.

“Wait, love,” cooed Dru, taking a small step toward the pair, staring into the frightened yet calm eyes of the brunette. Spike, with considerable reluctance, released the brat and pushed him back, waiting for him to speak.

“Well?” Ford prompted with a disappointed frown.

“What?” Spike groaned in annoyance and rolled his eyes, “Oh. You’ve got thirty seconds to convince me not to kill you,” he repeated drolly. 

“Yes! See, this is the best!” he crowed excitedly. “I wanna be like you. A vampire.” Spike merely looked at him incredulously. 

“I’ve known you for two minutes and I can’t stand you. I *really* don’t feature you living forever,” he grimaced in distaste. He looked over his shoulder and sent Dru a pleading glance. “Can I eat him now?” 

She never broke her gaze with the boy, lips curved into a secretive smile as she shook her head.

“Well feature this, I’m offering you a trade,” said Ford, glad when Spike turned back toward him, completely interested. “You make me a vampire…and I give you the slayer…”

Spike broke out into a maniacal grin, studying the boy with new appreciation. This one was starting to grow on him.

 

Willow and Xander walked slowly down the halls of Sunnydale High, biding their time until the first bell rang and they had to leave for class. Turning a corner, the redhead paused, pulling Xander to a stop as she watched Buffy, looking very tired, speaking with Ford. While he was energetic, practically bouncing off the walls with enthusiasm, she was subdued, her voice monotone, happiness nonexistent. She must know what he was up to. How exactly Willow wasn’t sure of, last time it was because she, Xander, and Angel went and found his little underground club, but that definitely didn’t happen this time around. 

They only caught the tail-end of the conversation the old friends were having, feeling bad for eavesdropping but feeling that it was necessary.

“Do you wanna go out again tonight?” Ford asked the blonde with a charming smile.

“Not busy,” she replied noncommittally, a little uncomfortable. Buffy didn’t know what to think of him now, what to say to him. If Angel was right, she had no idea what Ford could be up to.

“I sorta had this idea. It’s a…it’s a secret. I kinda want to surprise you,” he continued, hoping she’d agree, she had to agree. 

“I like surprises,” she shrugged, her voice lacking any emotion.

“Can you meet me here? At nine?” She nodded silently and he beamed. “Okay then, see you tonight,” he called out as he began walking away, leaving her standing alone in the hall. Buffy closed her eyes for a moment, taking a deep breath and frowning when she realized her hands had curled into fists.

The redhead and her brunette companion watched somberly as the slayer opened her eyes, turning her head and catching their gazes. Willow pulled Xander along with her as she approached the slayer.

“Hey,” the witch said softly, the blonde only nodded, trying to force a smile on her face. “Do…do you know what he’s up to?” she asked hesitantly, not bothering with small talk. 

“No,” Buffy replied quietly, not even surprised that Willow may know something about this situation with Ford. That was her Will, she knew everything.

“Yeah, well, we should probably talk…somewhere else,” the redhead added with a nervous glance at the people around them. Buffy nodded and followed the twosome to the library, a little relieved that Giles, for once, was not in. 

“Okay,” started Willow once they all sat, “It all has to do with this place called the Sunset Club…”

 

His footsteps sounded with a clang as he walked down the metal stairs of the hollowed out bomb shelter that he had now converted into a club. 

“Everything ready?” Ford questioned, looking to Chantrelle in askance. 

“Of course it’s ready,” said Diego, stepping in front of the brunette with a glare. “Hi, I took care of it. I always take care of it,” he reminded him. 

“Is it time? Tonight?” she asked, her voice no more than a whisper. 

“You nervous?” Ford asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

“Yes,” she admitted before shaking her head and smiling sheepishly. “No, I’m ready for the change,” she assured him. “Do you really think they’ll bless us?”

Ford glanced at his watch, smiling as he saw it was only ten minutes till sundown. “I know they will.”

“They’re not gonna let us down?” she wondered as his hands came up to massage his now aching temples, her constant questioning giving him a headache. 

“It’s gonna be fine,” he insisted brusquely, ignoring her whimper.

“No,” interrupted a low voice from the top of the stairs, “it’s really not.” Ford watched curiously as Buffy, her face taut with anger and a touch of sadness, descended the staircase. 

“It’s kinda drafty in here,” Ford turned to Diego, his tone casual. The other boy took the hint and headed for the entrance, past the slayer.

“I’m sorry Ford, I just couldn’t wait till tonight. What can I say? I’m rash and impulsive, it’s a flaw,” she shrugged.

“We all have flaws,” he replied calmly.

“I’m still a little fuzzy on what yours is. I think it has to do with you being a lying scumbag,” she sneered as she reached him.

“Everybody lies,” he commented conversationally, not at all intimidated. 

“You had to know I’d figure it out,” she said as she stared at him. “That I’d find out what you were up to.” 

“Actually,” he grinned, “I was counting on it,” he told her as the door to the club slammed shut behind them. Buffy jumped at the noise and ran hurriedly up the stairs, hitting it with her body and looking dismayed when it didn’t budge.

“Rigged up special,” Ford said proudly as she glared at him through eyes slit with betrayal. “Once it’s closed, it can only be opened from the outside. As soon as the sun sets, they’ll be coming…” 

“Ford, if these people are still here when they get here--” she tried to reason with him, her body filled with fear at the idea of being cornered in here as Spike and his minions flooded the small space. There was no way she could save them all, she wasn’t even sure if she could save herself.

“This is the end, Buffy,” he told her solemnly, “No one gets out of here alive.”

She looked at him desperately and ran back down the stairs. “There has to be another way out of here!” she said, more to herself than anyone else.

“This is a bomb shelter, Buffy,” he added, a tinge of annoyance lacing his voice as he slowly followed her. “I knew I wasn’t going to be able to overpower you. But this is three feet of solid concrete. Trust me when I say we’re in this for the long haul.”

“At least let the other people go,” she pleaded of him.

“Why are you fighting this?” asked Chantrelle curiously, “This is what we want. Can’t you see that?”

“What I see is that right after sundown, Spike and all his friends are going to be pigging out at the all-you-can-eat moron bar!” she shouted furiously. Buffy couldn’t believe these people were so stupid, so naïve, willingly walking to their deaths. “I’m trying to save you. You’re playing in some serious traffic here! Don’t you understand that? You’re going to die and the only chance you have is to get out of this pit right now and, my god, could you have a dorkier outfit?!” she scoffed as her gaze fell upon Diego, still dressed in that shiny blue cape.

“Gotta agree with her, D,” Ford added soberly, “You look like a big ninny.” They all heard a high-pitched beeping and Ford looked to his watch with a grin. “6:27…sunset,” he informed them all. Buffy watched in shock as they all smiled in excitement and collectively turned to face the door. 

She ran up the stairs, pounding on the heavy door that trapped them all inside, ignoring Ford’s slightly admirable laughter. Finally, she stopped trying and walked to the left side of the upper level, body drenched in the shadows as she looked down at all the eager faces sadly.

“They’re not gonna get changed, are they? The rest of them, they’re just fodder,” she said quietly as Ford approached her.

“Technically, yes,” he admitted with a shrug. “But I’m in, I will become immortal.” 

“Well, I’ve got a newsflash for you, brain trust. It doesn’t work like that,” she told him snidely. “You die, and a demon sets up shop in your old house. It walks, it talks, and it remembers your life, but it’s not you.”

“It’s better than nothing,” he replied softly, eyes falling to the floor, his confident demeanor wavering.

“And your life is nothing?” she asked in amazement. “Ford, these people don’t deserve to die…”

“And I do?!” he countered sharply. “I look good, don’t I? Well, let me tell you something,” he sneered, anger filling him. “I’ve got maybe six months left, and by then what they bury won’t even look like me. It’ll be bald, and shriveled, and it’ll smell bad. No, I’m not going out that way,” he declared with determination. “These people are sheep,” he said, pointing down to the crowd milling about. “They wanna be vampires because they’re lonely, miserable, or bored. I don’t have a choice.”

“You have a choice,” she replied somberly. “It’s not a good choice, but you have a choice. You’re opting for mass murder here and nothing you say is gonna change that!” The blonde looked up sharply when she heard the screech of tires and the slamming of cars doors in the distance. “Help me stop this Ford,” she begged. Letting out a frustrated grunt when he simply stood there.

Pushing him out of the way, she ran toward the stairs. “People listen to me! This is not the mother-ship, people!” she screeched as Ford hurried to follow her. “This is ugly death come to play!” She didn’t have time to argue with the crowd any longer as she felt a heavy blow of a lead pipe hit her in the head. Ford watched as she tumbled down the rest of the stairs, coming to rest on the cool floor. He moved over her, watching for any sign of movement. There was none. 

 

“Everybody spread out,” ordered Spike as they neared the club, game face present as he led the march. Drusilla was only a step behind him, the rest of his minion close. “Two men on the door, the first priority is the slayer, everything else is fair game. And let’s remember to share, people,” he reminded them with a mocking grin. 

Drusilla smiled and let her human façade slip away as they reached the door. 

“Are you sure you’re up for this?” Spike whispered in her ear before Lucius was to open the door.

“I want a treat,” she purred, eyes flaring, “I need a treat.” He grinned broadly at her enthusiasm.

“And a special one you’ll have…”

 

Buffy shook her head groggily as she heard the scraping of the heavy metal door. There were a lot of footsteps, the thudding adding to her massive headache. Her vision was blurry as she tried to slowly sit up. No one bothered to check on her, all eyes turned to the demon at the top of the steps, a group of men and women, faces distorted, standing behind him.

Chantrelle was near the middle of the staircase, looking up at Spike with terrified eyes. She had never seen a real vampire, only seen them in movies. She never remembered seeing the ridges that deformed his face, nor the yellow of his eyes, making him look more like an animal than a man. 

Spike grinned when he smelled her fear, taking a step toward her and lunging a bit, growling, making her jump. Surprisingly, she remained rooted to her spot. He could only look down at her in disdain and reach for her neck. In a lightening quick move he ripped off the choker she wore and gripped her hair, pulling her up to him, delighting in her gasp. 

“Take them all, save the slayer for me,” he growled his orders, satisfied that they heard them when they vaulted over the rails of the stairs. Tugging sharply on the blonde’s hair, he wasted no more time as he lunged for her neck, biting deeply as she yelped in pain. 

Buffy pulled herself up and barely dodged Ford as he attempted to hit her once more. She knocked him down and looked around anxiously. There were vampires everywhere, feeding feverishly, and she wasn’t sure how she could stop it. Her eyes darted around the club, freezing when she spotted that woman from the park, Drusilla, standing alone off to the side. Running at full speed she jumped up anything she could, speakers, boxes, and hopped over the rail of the second floor. 

She rushed the brunette, spinning her around so that she had Drusilla’s back against her chest, a stake poised precariously over her heart. Leading the brunette to the top of the stairs, she took a deep breath and shouted, “Spike!”

The bleached blonde’s head shot up, eyes widening at the sight of Dru with the slayer. Shoving the blonde away from him, he straightened. “Everybody stop!”

The feeding and the growling stopped immediately at the sound of their master’s voice. 

“Good idea,” Buffy breathed, scooting them closer to the door. “Now you let everyone out or she fits in an ash tray,” she demanded. Spike glared at her and glanced at a shaking Dru.

“Spike?” she whimpered as Buffy tightened her hold on her. Reluctantly Spike nodded his head. The rest of the vampires let the people go, allowing them to rush up the stairs and out the door that Spike and his boys had left open. 

“It’ll be okay, pet,” Spike assured her softly, never breaking his angry stare with Buffy.

“Down the stairs,” the slayer ordered and Spike made a show of moving down them slowly. Buffy led Dru to the edge of the stairs, looking from her to Spike and back. This was the same woman she had seen with Angel, the same one Angelus had been so obsessed with. She could take this chance to do something she had seriously considered, stake her. She was a vampire after all, it was her duty. But Buffy reluctantly decided she couldn’t do it. She couldn’t kill her, demon or not, out of sheer jealously or possessiveness. But if she ever saw Dru do anything objectionable, her dust would be blowing in the wind. Making her decision, she shoved Drusilla ahead of her abruptly, knowing Spike would be kept busy catching her. The blonde turned on her heel and ran out the door, slamming it shut just before Spike reached her, his body hitting the metal harshly as she shut it.

Spike growled and hit the door with his fist before reaching for the…“Uh, where’s the doorknob?”

 

Buffy stumbled out of the Sunset club, seeing everyone lingering about, tending to their injuries. A tall form made its way out of the crowd and Buffy let out a tentative smile as she saw him. “You’re just in time,” she smirked tiredly.

“Are there vampires in there?” he asked softly, wrapping his arm around her shoulders. 

“They’re contained,” she said, resting her head on Angel’s shoulder. “They’ll get out eventually though. We should probably go, we can come back when they’re gone.”

“Come back for what?” he asked curiously as he slowly pulled her away from the building.

“The body,” she whispered, thinking about the Ford she used to know and the one that had showed up in Sunnydale. Angel nodded sympathetically. “How did you know I was here?” she wondered as they faded into the night.

“Willow told me,” he replied before they fell into a comfortable silence.

 

Xander watched the couple walk away as Willow began ushering people away from the club. They had waited in the shadows until Buffy had disappeared, just wanting to make sure she was alright. They had tried to come with her earlier, but she had insisted that she needed to do this alone. 

“They all gone?” he asked as Willow met up with him ten minutes later. She joined him once more at the mouth of the alley.

“Yeah,” she took one last look around and turned to him. Xander became worried when he saw the look on her face. A mixture of resolve, fierce determination, and a hint of fear. “You might want to get going too.”

“What? Why, Wills?” he asked, totally confused. He saw her expression harden as she looked to the door to the Sunset club, they could still hear the pounding on the other side. He swallowed nervously and finally brought himself to ask, “What are you going to do?” 

The redhead took a deep breath and gazed at him, her eyes serious. “I’m going to let them out.” 

 

Chapter Twenty-two:

 

“Tell me you’re joking,” Xander demanded, looking at Willow like she had grown a second head. The redhead merely met his incredulous stare without flinching. “Oh, you really aren’t joking. Come on, Will. This is just stupid. Are you trying to get yourself killed?”

“No,” she replied calmly, frowning at the glare he sent her way. “I know how to take care of myself, Xander. You have to trust that I know what I’m doing.”

“You’re about to release a group of bloodthirsty vampires while you, what, stand around and wait? They’ll kill you before you can blink,” he reminded her sharply. 

She gazed into his pleading dark eyes, a look full of understanding and love at his obvious worry and fear. Ruffling his short brown hair and smiling up at him, Willow searched for the right words. 

“I want you to do me a favor, okay?” she asked softly. At his tentative nod she continued. “I need you to go home, maybe get some sleep, and not worry about me. I know that doesn’t sound possible, you were the only one who always worried about me, but I’m asking you to trust me. Trust that I know what I’m doing.” Her green eyes fell to the gravel beneath them, exhaling shakily.

“He…he needs to know, Xan,” she said in only a whisper. “He has a right to know. I’ve put this off long enough,” she sighed, running a hand through her hair. 

“You,” he finally replied after a long minute of silence. “You better not get yourself hurt tonight, Wills. I mean it,” he took her hand in his own, squeezing gently. “I need you.”

“Just as much as I need you, Xan,” she assured him with a sweet smile. “Now go. I…I might be gone for awhile, but I’ll be home as soon as I can.”

The brunette took one last, lingering look before releasing her hand from his tight grip and taking a step back. She better know what she was doing, he kept saying to himself. Forcing himself to move away, he turned his back to the girl, his steps soft and slow as he faded into the distance. 

 

Spike watched as his boys practically threw themselves at the door, bodies landing with a sickening thud against the metal. After he had calmed Drusilla, he had passed her off to Lucius, who was more than willing to do what his master told him. Dru had finally stopped whimpering, now seemingly content to rest comfortably in the other man’s loose embrace for the time being. 

He couldn’t hold back the slight growl when he heard movement at his feet. Blue eyes glared at the boy struggling to regain consciousness. Ford groaned, his hand going to his head, feeling the lump now forming from his fall. He shook his head, looking up and blinking when he saw Spike towering over him, not looking so happy. 

“What happened?” he mumbled in confusion as he tried to stand.

“We’re stuck in the basement,” Spike replied dryly, no trace of humor on his handsome face.

“Buffy?” he wondered as he gained his bearings.

“She’s *not* stuck in the basement,” he sneered with narrowed eyes.

“Hey, well, I delivered,” Ford declared, his head finally clear. “I handed her to you.”

“Yes, I suppose you did,” Spike drawled, arms crossed over his chest. 

“So? What about my reward?” he demanded arrogantly, looking the vampire in the eye. Spike did his best to keep a straight face. The little prig actually expected him to do him a bloody favor? He could barely restrain the growl that threatened to sound at the mere idea of having this brat around for all eternity. 

“You want death, mate?” he countered coolly as his hands left their place across his chest, reaching out, one curling in his short hair, the other gripping his chin tightly. Spike reveled in the look of shock that crossed the boy’s face right before he twisted sharply, breaking his neck violently. He let the body fall with a thud, a satisfied grin crossing his face. “You got it.”

He looked up to see all his men watching him intently and he snarled in warning. “Get back to work, you gits…”

 

Willow faced the mouth of the alley, waiting until she couldn’t distinguish Xander’s form or hear his footsteps any longer before turning on her heel to face the door. She studied it, trying to determine how heavy it really was. She could hear the pounding of fists on the other side as Spike’s minions tried their best to somehow pry it open. 

The easiest option would be to simply open the door by the latch, but that would leave her standing right by the exit and there were too many hungry vamps inside for comfort. She felt too vulnerable, out in the open like that. So that plan was out. She decided then to go the next easiest route, magicking open the door. Levitation and telekinesis were the first things she had learned when she began practicing Wicca, by now she was well versed in the subject. She sure as hell could float more than a pencil by now, and manipulating objects like, let’s say, a door handle, shouldn’t prove very difficult. 

Finding a dark corner along the wall of the club, she hid herself as best she could. Vampires had keen eyesight and slinking into the shadows wouldn’t allow for much cover, but it was the best she could come up with. Taking a deep breath, she centered herself, eyes closed in concentration. Her mind was completely focused on the heavy door handle and she could feel its resistance give way. Her eyes flew open, green dotted with black, as she retained her focus, resisting the urge to whoop in triumph when she saw the handle shake and slowly but surely turn. Almost there…

 

Spike was about halfway up the stairs to join the three fledges at the door when they heard it. It was faint, barely noticeable above the grunting they made as they tried to force the door open. It wasn’t a scraping, but a squeaking, like metal on metal. He signaled for his boys to step back as he took a hesitant step forward, up another stair. 

The door clicked and slowly swung open, not very much, only an inch or two, but enough. They all stared at the door, tense and muscles taut, waiting for an attack. It never came. Silently, Spike motioned for one of his minions, a massive man still in game face, to open it further. After a second’s hesitation he did as told, throwing it open, poised to fight. There was no one there. The door clanged, loud in the silence, as it hit the concrete of the wall. 

The trio who were previously attempting to pry open the door stepped out into the deserted alley, listening for any suspicious sounds. This just smacked of a set up, but none could sense the slayer at all. They all slowly made their way out of the club, Drusilla still wrapped around Lucius, Spike the last one out the door. 

Willow tried to calm the beating of her heart as maybe twenty vampires flowed out into the alley. Even though she could barely hear it, she knew her breathing must sound harsh to their sensitive ears and she cringed every time eyes swept over in her direction. Spike seemed eager to be rid of the group of minions, obviously annoyed at being bested once more by the slayer.

“Stop mucking about, you nits,” he snarled when they all continued to linger about. “If you’re hungry, then eat. Drink, shag, whatever, I don’t care. Just go.” Grumbling a bit, they all went to follow his instructions, Spike moving behind them, still at the back of the alley. 

Seeing most of the group disperse, Willow let out a relieved breath, one which she immediately regretted when she saw Spike stop in his tracks. His back was still turned to her, head cocked to the side, waiting, listening. He turned, his profile now visible. She debated whether to step out of her hiding place now that the rest of the vampires were gone, or to wait. Wait for what she wasn’t too sure about. But she soon realized it wouldn’t be necessary when she saw the wicked grin cross his face.

“Been wonderin’ when you’d show that pretty face of yours,” he chuckled as he faced her. Even shrouded in total darkness his eyes found hers, holding her in place. “Come on out, pet. You can’t hide from me,” he informed her with a smug grin. “I know your scent,” he informed her, tapping the end of his nose teasingly. “That’s one thing you can’t hide.”

Taking a deep breath, the witch stepped out into the moonlight. A soft breeze filtered through the narrow space between dilapidated buildings. Red hair fluttered around a pale face, green eyes focused on some point on his face, his chin he thought, never at his eyes. She was biting her lip, her hands fidgeting at her side before she gave up and stuffed them in her pockets. 

“We-e,” she started, stopping when her voice cracked. Clearing her throat and taking a moment to gather some courage, she spoke again. “We, uh, need to talk.”

“Feeling chatty, pet?” he drawled, a single eyebrow rose in suspicion. 

“You want answers,” she shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “I’ve got them.” He stood there, just staring at her for what felt like hours. In reality it was only about thirty seconds. In a nervous gesture of his own, Spike began patting down the pockets of his duster, searching for his cigarettes. Lighting one swiftly, he returned his piercing gaze to her. While he projected indifference, legs shoulder width apart, cigarette hanging precariously from his lips, eyes lighted in veiled curiosity, she knew he was anything but indifferent. 

“Well, start talking,” he demanded brusquely, head tilted to the right ever so slightly.

“Can we…can we walk?” she asked tentatively. At his hesitant look, she tried to explain. “I just…don’t want to do this here, okay? Having this conversation is bad enough; let’s not add to the creepy factor by having our little talk in a dark alley.” 

“You are a strange bird,” he muttered before sweeping an arm out to the side in a silent signal for her to get moving.

 

Buffy left Angel at his apartment, surprisingly she was in no mood for friendly chat. Today had just been miserable and there wasn’t a thing Angel would be able to tell her that would make her feel better, despite his best attempts. 

So she found herself wandering, unsure of her destination. She felt like her world had been turned on its head. Ford, who she had known for years, a boy she thought she could trust with her life, betrayed her. Not that betrayal and devious plans were new to her, but it hit home when the enemy was once called friend. 

But his motivations were the cause of her restless meanderings. He didn’t do it because he hated her, not because he wanted power, he was scared; scared of the pain of dying, of the uncertainty that comes with the knowledge that your time on this earth is suddenly limited. Was there an afterlife, free of pain and disease? Or was all that awaited us a void, nothingness? And if when you died there was nothing, would you even technically exist anymore?

Questions swirled in her mind, and yet no answers came to her. She didn’t want to feel bad for him. She didn’t want those pangs of sympathy, and pity, to flood her. But they did. All she wanted were answers, she wanted reasons, logic. And sadly logic was something she was never good at. 

Glancing up she was mildly surprised to find that she was standing outside Sunnydale High. Shaking her head with a tiny smile, she took small, exhausted steps toward the building with one place in mind, the library. She wanted answers, reason, and there was one person in her life that she knew could provide them. She just hoped Giles was still in his office.

 

They strolled down the unexpectedly deserted streets in silence for a couple minutes, Willow too caught up in her thoughts. The redhead chanced a glance at Spike, nearly cringing at the expression on his face. He was quickly losing the rather small amount of patience he had forced on himself and if she didn’t speak soon she feared his retaliation. 

“I did a spell,” she said softly, eyes on the pavement as he listened intently. “About five years from now, or is it six?” she considered with a small frown. “I’m from the future,” she added with a humorless laugh.

Willow didn’t even need to look at him to know he didn’t believe her, or at least he was very wary of her story. Even vampires are a bit skeptical it seems. She could understand though. Smoke curled around them both as he forced his lungs to exhale and she stifled a cough before trying to speak again. 

“The world was different, a sad, depressing place. We had lost so much, so many loved ones gone, not even dust…” she sighed with a shake of her head. “He was desperate, Xander was. You know him, right?” she asked with a sideways glance. Upon his short, affirmative nod, she continued. “He was so tired, of the fighting, the death, he wanted to be done with it. So he thought, hey, why don’t we just go back, back in time, before we met the slayer, before everything started to go to hell.”

“I shouldn’t have done it,” the witch grumbled. “I’ve had enough experience with magic that I know it’s dangerous. There’s always a catch, you see? Nothing’s ever simple. I pulled it off, took us both back, and we managed to fall back into the same damn routine we were going to try to avoid. Fate is a nasty one, she is. We tried; we really did, to ignore Buffy, to pretend we didn’t know what goes bump in the night. But it can’t be done.”

“Then I ran into you,” she told him, glancing up at his face which was deliberately blank. “That hadn’t happened before. I mean, we knew each other, in the ‘I want to kill you horribly’ sense, but we had never really talked, especially when you first showed up in Sunnydale. After that, after you talked about your…past, I realized something went wrong. Really, really wrong.”

“Before, in my time, Drusilla was your sire,” she admitted, wrapping her arms around her middle to keep herself warm. “She was your everything, actually. She was your moon and stars, your reason for ‘unliving’ as you called it, your princess. I-I…I don’t know what happened, how it changed, but when you told me that Angel was your sire, my heart nearly stopped.” Willow was watching his face for any sign of emotion, but he was so closed off she couldn’t tell what he was thinking. So she plowed on. 

“That wasn’t supposed to happen. The spell, it wasn’t supposed to change anything, just bring us back here,” she hurried to explain. “Something else is at work here, I know it. Trouble is I don’t know what or who it is. Something powerful screwed up your past, and I’d be willing to bet my life on it that they are behind these…visions…you’ve been having. You know? Those bouts of déjà vu?”

The redhead waited until he finally looked her way, his blue eyes cold and hard and she got the chilling sensation that he was staring right through her. Their footsteps never once faltered or slowed as they continued on, the girl growing more and more unnerved by his stoic silence. 

“They’re memories,” she said, brow furrowed. “What you’ve been seeing…feeling. They are memories from before. Us in the factory? That was from my senior year of high school. Drusilla had left you and you wanted me to do a–a love spell for you,” she remembered softly.

“I don’t have many answers, I realize that now,” she sighed sadly. “Actually, you probably have even more questions now, but that’s what I know. Or the basics at least. If it seems like nothing makes sense to you, you’re not alone. This makes no sense to me either. But you have to know, Spike, I had no intention to play with your life like this. You and I, we were never close before. There is so much, about before, that I wish I could tell you, but I’m not sure it would be best. Things are confusing enough as it is. But…I respected you; I wouldn’t do something to purposely hurt you.”

Biting her lip again out of habit, Willow fell silent. She didn’t know what to say. This hadn’t been the most revealing of conversations, but she wasn’t about to tell him everything. Some things were best kept quiet. But still, she expected some sort of reaction out of him while she spoke. She looked for a flash of anger, a tinge of fury or frustration, but none of that had appeared. They walked side by side, each looking straight ahead, not saying a word.

For Spike, his sudden bout of quietness was brought on as he tried to take in everything the little girl had told him. He was a tiny bit relieved to see he wasn’t going crazy, that something really was going on. But mostly he was angry. Furious to be exact. Whether she meant to or not, the stupid, selfish chit had taken his life in her hands and twisted it until all that was left were skewed remains. She was responsible for it all, the confusion, the sickening worry he had been feeling. 

Willow glanced at Spike when she heard him draw a deep breath, her expression concerned. Spike and breathing was a bad thing. Spike didn’t have to breathe and he only did it when he had to really calm himself, when he was truly angry. She flinched when she saw his face. The traces of fury she had been searching for earlier were clearly present on his handsome face now and it made her want to run as far away from him as she could. 

“Undo it,” he growled, his voice so low that she barely heard it. “The bloody spell, witch. Undo it,” he demanded at her confused look. She opened her mouth, to deny him, but found the words trapped in her throat, instead only shaking her head ‘no’. She never even saw him move, but before she knew it he had her body pressed up harshly against a tree, a strong hand around her delicate neck. 

He didn’t bother with his human façade any longer, glaring at her with menacing amber eyes. “You will undo it!” he hissed. “Fix it! It had to be better than this! Knowing I’m some sodding pawn in some big bad’s scheme to…to send this whole bloody world to hell?! You fucked with my life, now fix it!”

“It can’t be undone…” she managed to choke out despite his tight grip on her throat, eyes wide with fright. Suddenly his hand was gone and she couldn’t do anything but collapse against the trunk of the tree behind, gasping for air. “It wasn’t better,” she said, her voice raspy as her hand went to her bruised neck. “Besides, even if I were able to bring us back to our time, you wouldn’t have anything to go back to. Damn it Spike, that life you want back so bad? It’s gone! In *my* time, you’re dead, dust, nothing!”

The blonde stilled unnaturally at that revelation. Dust…he was dust. In all his years as a vampire, his own death never entered his mind. Even when he fought his two slayers, knowing he was going up against the best of the best, fear never made an appearance. But now, or a few years from now, he was nothing more than ash, a memory blowing in the wind. 

“Funny, love. It sounds like you actually gave a damn that I died,” he snorted with a derisive chuckle, the laughter hollow and forced. 

“We may not have been friends, Spike. But by then we weren’t enemies either,” she admitted gently as she pulled herself off the ground, dusting off her dirty jeans. His eyes narrowed at her statement, unsure what to make of it. He didn’t play nice with humans, at least he never had before he met her. She seemed to be the exception to every rule he had. 

He was still pissed, seething actually. He hated the idea of someone, some non-corporeal thing disrupting his life, for its own amusement most likely. Control was something he longed for, that he never lost, but ever since he stepped foot in this town he felt his control slipping. And he didn’t like it. His focus returned to the small redhead beside him as she pulled herself up to her full height. She looked skittish, jumpy, but she had a backbone to her, he’d give her that. And she looked genuinely sorry too, her ever expressive green eyes apologetic and pleading. Pleading for what he wasn’t sure, forgiveness, her life? He wasn’t sure and he doubted she knew either. 

“So…” Willow said softly, breaking the tedious quiet. She dared to look him in the eye, standing her ground as she watched his ridges slip away and his face return to that deceptively boyish face. “What happens now?” 

 

Buffy was sitting in Giles’ office in the library, feet tucked under her as she stared down at her hands. She was exhausted and knew she probably should go home, try and get some sleep, but she was restless. And more than anything she was depressed. She had just finished telling her watcher what had happened with Ford, his betrayal, his sickness, and then she just seemed to run out of words. She felt drained and sad and so lost. Giles could only look on in sympathy as she dredged through the inner pain that threatened to drown her.

“I don’t know what I’m supposed to say,” the slayer whispered, resting her head in her hands.

“You needn’t say anything,” he told her wisely.

“It’d be simpler if I could just hate him,” she sighed, rubbing her forehead. “I think he wanted me to. I think it made it easier for him to be the villain of the piece. Really he was just scared.”

“Yes,” he mused with a sad smile. “I suppose he was.” 

“Nothing’s ever simple anymore,” she groaned in frustration. “I’m constantly trying to work it out. Who to love or hate. Who to trust. It’s just like, the more I know, the more confused I get.”

“I believe that’s called growing up,” the librarian chuckled softly. 

“I’d like to stop then, okay?” she begged, her voice tiny like a child’s. It tugged at his heart. 

“I know the feeling,” he commiserated with a nod. 

“Does it ever get easy?” she wondered, peering up at the older gentleman in questioning.

“You mean life?” he clarified.

“Yeah,” she nodded. “Does it get easy?”

He removed his glasses, pinching the bridge of his nose. “What do you want me to say?” he sighed.

“Lie to me,” she decided in a gentle voice. He grinned softly and polished his glasses, unable to look her in the eye when he replied.

“Yes, it’s terribly simple,” he considered for a moment. He slipped his glasses back on and looked at her curled up form, watching him intently. “The good guys are always stalwart and true, the bad guys are easily distinguished by their pointy horns or black hats, and, uh, we always defeat them and save the day. No one ever dies, and uh, we live happily ever after…”

His speech brought a reluctant grin to the blonde’s drawn face and she giggled. “Liar…”

 

“What happens now?” the question reverberated through Spike’s head. Such a loaded question, that one. He could act like the vampire he was and simply drain her. But something about that just rubbed him the wrong way. He could demand more information from her, she knew a lot more than she was sharing, he knew. But he could see the stress and strain in her posture and he felt the unfamiliar desire to leave her be. 

“Dunno,” he shrugged, the leather of his duster creaking from the movement. “You just dropped a bomb on me, pet. I don’t really know what to say…”

Willow was surprised at the gentle tone the vampire used with her. “You don’t have to say anything, I guess.”

“I’m a bit confused, Red,” he grumbled, running an annoyed hand through his bleached blonde locks. “You’ve just told me my life has been changed, toyed with like it was nothing. Right now I’m a right bit pissed. I haven’t taken the time to think about what happens now,” his voice had taken on a hysterical pitch. He started pacing by now and she followed his movements with wary green eyes. 

“What the hell do you want me to say?” he hissed. “Do you really want to know where we go from here? You want the bloody truth?!” He wanted to tear her apart, punish her for messing with things she couldn’t comprehend. The only thing that stayed him was the fact that she still knew a hell of a lot more than she was saying. He stopped in his tracks, pinning her with his intense gaze and she took an involuntary step back, abruptly looking down. “Do you *really* want to hear what I have to say?” he growled, jaw clenched.

“N-no…” she stammered, taken aback by his withering glare. “Lie to me…” she whispered, knowing she really didn’t want to hear the thoughts that were running through his head right now. Most of them probably involved her untimely death.

He cocked his head to the side as he looked at her, surprised and at a loss for words. Considering, taking his time before answering, Spike reigned in his anger, his voice monotone. 

“What happens now…” he murmured, “we leave here tonight, and never see each other again. You never think of what you’ve done, the damage you may have caused. I never think of the way my life has been violated. I won’t spend hours out of the day thinking about you, or the memories I’ve been stripped of. We live happily ever after, far away from one another. And this whole mess is…forgotten.”

Spike held her gaze for one long, agonizing minute before slowly spinning on his heel and stalking off into the night. He needed to clear his head, do some serious thinking. He’d be back for more answers in time, back to talk to the witch who had haunted him since he rode into this bloody town. But that night wasn’t tonight.

Willow watched him leave, feeling a small sense of relief that they hadn’t come to blows, not that she could have bested him in a fight anyway. But she knew she hadn’t seen the last of him. This was Spike, after all. He was never really gone, he just kept coming back. Thinking over his final comments, she found herself shaking her head, a despondent frown on her face, as she stepped off in the opposite direction.

“Liar…”


	7. Chapters 23-26

Chapter Twenty-three:

 

The witch wasn’t too surprised to see that the light to her living room was still on, shining like a beacon on the dark street. It was only around nine o’clock that night, but the dwellers of her small suburb, at least those smart enough to know what goes bump in the night, were safely locked in their houses. Even if it wasn’t so early in the evening, at least by her standards, she knew Xander wouldn’t take her advice and go to bed. No, her Xander would sit and wait until she returned home and he knew she was safe. He was so predictable some times, but she found it endearing. She only hoped he wasn’t in the mood to talk. She had no desire to rehash everything that happened that night with Spike. 

Her keys jingled noisily in the silence as she removed them from her right pants pocket, searching through the multitude of keys on the chain for the right one. Her search proved useless when she heard the lock slide out of place and the doorknob turn. The door swung open and Xander stood before her, a relieved expression across his tight face. 

“You’re alive,” he said tonelessly, eyes pinning her in place. He tried to look calm and relaxed, but she could see the tension in his shoulders. He was worried for her, that much was obvious.

“Of course, what did you expect?” she answered, cocking her head to the side and looking up at him blankly. She took a step forward, out of the shadows and into the area illuminated by the porch light. She had to tilt her head back slightly to look him in the eye and it was that move that caught Xander’s eyes. His well-rehearsed façade of nonchalance disappeared in an instant as his hand shot out, gripping her gently by the elbow and pulling her further into the light, staring intently at something.

“You’re hurt,” he whispered, his free hand coming up to graze her bare throat. His thumb brushed the side of her neck where dark bruises were quickly forming. He tilted her head to the side, examining them further. The marks were finger-shaped. The discoloration was even more noticeable where fingernails had dug into her throat tightly.

“It’s nothing,” Willow assured him with a terse smile. She pushed him aside gently and crossed the threshold. Too tired to do anything else, she slipped off her coat and tossed it onto the armchair before falling onto the sofa.

Xander hesitated at the doorway a moment before shutting the door softly and turning on his heel to face his best friend. He watched her, studied her. Other than the bruising on her neck she seemed okay; exhausted, yes, but otherwise hurt, no. He let out a heavy sigh and took a seat next to her. 

Her head fell onto his shoulder as she shifted on the couch, her red hair spilling across his chest. Her eyes closed and he slipped his arm around her shoulders, pulling her to him. He propped his chin on top of her head and took a deep breath, inhaling the reassuring scent of her. 

“How did he take it?” Xander murmured softly. Her jaw clenched almost imperceptibly and he frowned.

“Not tonight Xan,” she pleaded, burying her face in his neck, hiding from his prying eyes. “Later, I promise. But just not tonight.”

“Okay,” he agreed, none too happy. He wanted to know what happened, needed to know what happened. What had her so depressed? What had provoked Spike into wrapping a hand around her neck? But she had every right to ask him to wait, so wait he would; but only for a short while. 

“I’m going to take a long bath,” she groaned as she stood, leaving him alone on the couch. “Then I’m going to bed. I’ll see you in the morning.” He nodded and watched her climb the stairs before letting his head fall back, a hand running down his face. Maybe Willow had the right idea; bed sounded really good right about now.

 

The school day passed uneventfully. While the trio of friends met in the library as usual for lunch, the conversation remained on neutral, bordering on mundane topics. Willow was too shaken to even bother with her usual perkiness, Xander was too worried about Willow to crack a joke, and Buffy was too devastated by Ford’s betrayal and Angel’s confessions to notice. Giles didn’t question them about their sullen behavior, he was understandably sympathetic. 

Buffy was the only one he was really worried about. He didn’t hate Xander or Willow; they had etched out a shaky alliance after the events with the Master. But that didn’t mean he always trusted them. More than that, he found himself a tinge resentful. He was a watcher, had lived decades longer than the children he was surrounded by. He lived through so much, had spent so much time educating himself and training to become a watcher. And now this little girl showed up and knew more about the demons they faced than even he did. He loathed having to turn to a teenager for advice. 

She wasn’t a bad kid. He really had no reason to feel this way, but he couldn’t seem to help it. He couldn’t bring himself to trust her, or the boy for that matter. They knew too much. That much knowledge of the darkness comes with a heavy price, one he was sure they paid. They had secrets, were too jaded for their age, and he could only guess what their secrets were. Until they were completely honest with him, he was determined to keep them at arms length. It wasn’t just for his own peace of mind; he did it to protect his charge. They had only helped Buffy so far, but in the end, he couldn’t be sure whose side those two were really on. Until he could be sure, he had to do what was needed to protect his slayer. Even if that meant being cold and aloof to children that had done him no wrong. It was his job to be suspicious. 

They had left for class when the bell rang, only returning to the library shortly before sunset. Buffy had joined Giles in the deserted gym after school got out to train and run a couple laps before the rest of the gang arrived. Willow and Xander had stopped by her house just to finish their homework quickly and drop off their backpacks before heading for the library.

By the time they arrived, Buffy, who was sweating slightly from her workout, was perched on the counter, absently rifling through her history book. She smiled as Willow and Xander pushed open the doors and ambled inside. Giles looked up from his spot behind the counter at their arrival, nodding hello to them stiffly.

“Any research for us to do Giles?” asked Willow politely as she took a seat at the table. There were a few books of demonic lore scattered on the table and she looked over them, picking out Grenfell’s Compendium and opening it in front of her.

“No,” the watcher replied without looking up from his work, “Nothing noteworthy to speak of.” The redhead frowned but nodded and went back to her reading. Xander sat back in his chair, the wood creaking under his weight, and started tapping his foot. It was something he did when he was restless.

Before the room had completely settled into silence the double doors were pushed open and Angel strode inside. Giles didn’t even bother with greeting the vampire. Buffy barely looked up, watching her boyfriend through lowered lashes as he looked to Willow. The dark haired vampire exchanged a meaningful glance with the redhead, a silent thank you for letting him know where Buffy went the night before. He hadn’t arrived at the Sunset Club in time to help her but at least he was assured that she was okay and Ford was no longer an issue.

Unfortunately Ford wasn’t he and Buffy’s only problem. Her initial jealousy of Drusilla had been replaced by wariness and insecurity after hearing all he had done. Never mind that it had happened over a century ago, his treatment of the human Drusilla was hard for him to even forget. He could only imagine how abhorrent the slayer found it. And by her subdued welcome when he walked into the library, she wasn’t taking things well. Even after last night, after she entertained his feeble attempts to make her feel better after what happened with Ford, she was still nervous around him. He found her avoidance of him both understandable and heartbreaking. 

“Um,” he stammered awkwardly. His choked voice caused Buffy to look up from her homework and he cleared his throat, all too aware of his current audience. “Can we talk, Buffy?”

She opened her mouth and then closed it suddenly before fixing him with a nervous and sad stare. Expelling a deep breath, she nodded and hopped off the counter. The blonde followed Angel as he led them out of the library and into the darkened hallway. Once the double doors settled closed, he looked back to the fidgeting girl.

“How are you?” he asked, deciding to start with the most general question he could think of. 

“Confused,” she admitted with a shrug. “These past few days have been kind of crazy. As if my life wasn’t hard enough with Spike trying to kill me, my friend betrays me and I find out the details of my honey’s not so stellar past. It’s hard to take it all in, to make sense of everything. I’m dealing as best I can.”

Angel shuffled his feet nervously and his gaze fell to the floor. “So…are we still…together?”

“I…I just don’t know,” Buffy admitted, unable to look him in his eyes any longer. Her gaze fell to her shoes as she wrung her hands.

“You don’t trust me,” he murmured sorrowfully. She could feel his eyes on her and she forced herself to look him in the eye. The least he deserved during this little chat was eye contact.

“I’m trying,” she swore fervently. “I just…its hard thinking anyone could do the things you did. And you enjoyed it, and there’s some part of you…”

“That still enjoys it,” he finished, his head bowed. 

“Yeah,” she breathed. “I need time, okay? Time to take everything in and think; can you do that?” 

“Yes, I can do that,” he said, his voice thick with an emotion she couldn’t place. He nearly jumped in surprise when she placed a gentle hand on his arm.

“We’re still us,” she assured him with a trembling smile. “We’re just taking a break.” He nodded, unable to form words, too concerned with the growing ache in his heart. Nodding was the best he could do at the moment. Thankfully she understood that. 

“I’m going to patrol,” Buffy decided. “Spike’s bound to be pissed that I kicked his scrawny ass again last night. He’ll probably try to take it out on the local population, oblivious as they are. I’m just…going to get my stuff,” she added as she slipped into the library once more. She was most likely saying goodbye to everyone inside and grabbing her usual arsenal, a couple stakes and some holy water. 

Angel still hadn’t moved when she returned, the sound of her heels the only thing alerting him to her presence in his current state. Buffy looked up at him sadly, wishing she could find it in her heart just to get past his discretions. Hopefully in time she could, but not today. It was too soon. 

A warm hand caressed his cool cheek as fathomless brown eyes met blue. The blonde wanted nothing more than to lean forward and brush a kiss across those familiar lips, but she held back. She had told him they needed a break and she meant it, kissing him would just be cruel. Her hand fell from his face and she spared one last look before turning and leaving him alone in the shadowed hallway. Minutes later he still hadn’t moved. 

 

When it became glaringly obvious that Giles had no work for them to do and that Buffy wasn’t coming back from patrol soon, Xander decided they might as well go. Why waste a perfectly good night brooding in the library when he could spend it brooding at Willow’s house? The brunette watched as Willow finished gathering her things, glancing furtively to Giles’ office, seeing that the door was shut tightly.

“So, you gonna tell me what happened last night?” he prompted as she shouldered her purse and started walking to the doors. Pushing them open and stepping into the hall, she failed to answer him. Xander quickened his pace to catch up with her, tugging on her arm in the middle of the hallway and pulling her to a stop.

“What happened with Spike last night?” he demanded firmly. His eyes involuntarily flew to the bruises that decorated her neck. He needed to know what happened. Neither noticed the form sitting in a darkened corner that stiffened at the mention of the bleached blonde before sinking further into the shadows, listening to their every word.

“I did what I told you I was going to do,” Willow replied with a despondent sigh. “I told Spike what we did. Needless to say he wasn’t happy about it,” she snorted indelicately. 

“I can understand that,” he acknowledged with a shake of his head. “And how did you end up with his hands wrapped around your neck?” 

“He wanted me to undo the spell,” she said, her mouth set in a grim line. “I told him it couldn’t be undone. He didn’t react well.”

“That’s the understatement of the year, Wills!” he hissed. “I told you going to talk to him alone was dangerous! Hello! This is Spike! Not exactly the poster child for ‘Sanity Fair’! How did you think he was going to react?!” 

“I’m just cleaning up your mess!” she retorted, feeling immediately remorseful when his face fell. “God Xan, I didn’t mean that. We’re both responsible for this, but I’m trying to make things right, for all of us.”

“Spike included?” he asked incredulously.

“Spike most of all,” she declared. “We did this. We knew there would be consequences. He didn’t have any choice in the matter. I owed him at least an explanation.” 

“And now that it’s done, that’s it right?” Xander argued. “No more seeking out homicidal master vampires for late night chats?”

“I have no plans to seek him out,” Willow promised him before biting her lip. “But I have a feeling he’s not going to let this go. He will probably try to find us, to get more answers. You can’t let your guard down Xan. He’s angry and he’s confused. That’s not a good combination.”

“Got it,” he said with a mock salute. “No provoking Junior.” She glared at him and he put his hands up in defense. “I know the drill Wills, no going out without my trusty stake,” he said, patting his jacket pocket, “and no pissing off Blondie. I’ll behave, scout’s honor.”

“I’m serious Xander,” she told him, pressing the importance of avoiding Spike at all costs, at least until he cooled off. And considering how volatile he could, they could be waiting for awhile. “Can we go home now?”

“Yeah,” he nodded and started for the exit down the hall. She moved to join him but stopped short.

“Shoot, I need to grab that book I was reading,” she remembered with a roll of her eyes. “Go ahead; I know you wanna go home. I’ll catch up.”

“You sure?” he checked, unsure if he wanted to leave her alone.

“I’m cool, just watch your back.” He nodded one last time and turned away from her. 

The redhead slipped back into the library and grabbed the compendium she had been reading from. It held all kinds of information that might be helpful in the future. There were sections devoted to the Judge, Acathla, and even just your standard demons, like vamps and werewolves. That gave her pause. She wondered if Oz had been infected yet or not, maybe she could stop that from happening. Then he’d never hook up with skanky Veruca and they might actually have a chance at working out. But then again, she wasn’t sure how to walk up to a guy that didn’t really know her now and tell him to avoid his cousin Jordy, just in case the kid was feeling a little bite-happy one day. It wasn’t your normal everyday conversation, not even for the hell mouth.

Shaking her head, determined to forget about Oz for the time being, Willow left the library, book clutched in her hand. Walking down the silent hall, she was taken back to the moment before their final battle with the First, when the three of them, Buffy, Xander, and herself, just took a moment to reminisce. They thought over everything they had been through, much of which had taken place within these halls, and made their peace with the past, and reminded themselves why they were still friends after all those years. 

Her fond smile faded almost as soon as it appeared. This building was supposed to be demolished; this whole town should only be a sinkhole. But it wasn’t. And all those memories, all the adventures they went through, all the trials they had faced together, were nothing but figments of her imagination. She was beginning to understand how Spike felt. Everything was the same, yet everything was so different and she didn’t know how to deal. And to think, she only had herself to blame. Shaking her head sorrowfully, the redhead headed for the door, pushing it open with a muffled grunt and stepping out into the cool night air. 

Sitting back on his haunches, Angel let out an unnecessary breath, a dark expression across his handsome features. Hidden covertly between three trophy cases that lined the hall of Sunnydale High, having never left after his rather depressing conversation with Buffy, he had been privy to a very private and very suspicious conversation. He always knew Xander and Willow couldn’t be trusted. He tried to tell Buffy, but she only scoffed, and Giles wouldn’t have listened to him long enough for him to explain, seemed the watcher had an extreme dislike of vampires. But now he had real reasons to be concerned for their safety. 

Spike never had chats with the enemy, and being the slayer’s friend most definitely made Willow the enemy. The blonde would kill someone like her before even considering having a friendly conversation. But the redhead was not dead, Spike had let her go. That alone was absolutely confounding. He didn’t have a clue what Willow and Xander had been discussing, but one thing was certain. Those two were no good, and Angel had every intention of finding out what they were really up to. 

 

Chapter Twenty-four:

 

Xander was surprised when he found himself patrolling alone with Buffy. His day had passed as normally as it usually did, just another boring day of schoolwork he vaguely remembered from years past. He had pushed away any worries that lingered about Willow’s confrontation with Spike two nights before. It was over and done with, and nothing could be changed. And even though he knew Willow was right, that Spike was in no way out of their lives, at least he would now be too preoccupied trying to deal with the facts Willow revealed to bother her. It was a temporary reprieve, but a reprieve nonetheless. 

So when he and the redhead had arrived back in the library after sunset, he paid no mind to the dark eyes that followed his movements critically, never noticed that those same eyes watched Willow even more closely. He was too determined to pretend that this was just another day to bother. Willow, on the other hand, seemed a bit anxious once they stepped inside the double doors. 

The library felt…awkward. That was the best word the redhead could think to describe it. She just shrugged it off, deciding that the feeling had to be attributed to Buffy and Angel; the same Buffy and Angel who were trying desperately not to look one another in the eyes. They were seated on opposite sides of the room, the blonde seated on top of the table in the center of the floor, Angel leaning quietly against the counter. Giles seemed oblivious to the tension coming from the two, he was reading calmly as he ambled out of his office. 

Buffy and Willow spoke quietly for a bit, Xander in no mood to join in the girl talk. He was skimming through a comic book he had found a week before under his bed. When Giles noticed that none of them were even pretending to do any real work, the watcher had ordered them with a heavy sigh to go patrol.

It wasn’t an unusual occurrence for the four of them to go patrolling. Sometimes they went as a group but more often then not they would split off into twos. Buffy and Angel would take the north-side and he and Willow would take the south. When they met up in the middle, they would call it a night. So when Giles announced it was time to split up, Xander was more than ready to gather his things and join Willow. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t surprised when his plans changed.

Angel. The bane of his existence since he first met the laconic vampire; had stepped away from his perch at the counter and announced that he would go with Willow tonight. He murmured something about giving Buffy space, but Xander didn’t buy it. Something was up with the Broody One and he wanted to know what it was. Unfortunately tonight wouldn’t be the night. No, he hadn’t even gotten the chance to object; instead Angel had grabbed Willow’s hand and led her out the doors before he could think of the right way to tell him to shove it. 

Looking to the slayer in confusion, he only received a halfhearted shrug as an answer before the blonde grabbed her stakes and shuffled to the door, the young brunette trailing after her. 

It was two hours into patrol as Xander watched calmly as Buffy staked her fourth vampire of the night. It was kind of slow that night, but neither one noticed, too caught up in their own thoughts. The slayer stumbled a little when the vampire exploded into dust, her weight having rested too much on the fledgling. Seeing her falter, Xander reached out a hand to steady her and she smiled faintly in appreciation. 

“Thanks Xand,” said Buffy softly, brushing off her clothes and pulling her leather jacket tighter around her middle to stave off the cold. 

“No problem,” he grinned lightly, taking her by the elbow to steer her toward the exit of the cemetery. “So…Buff…” he started, grimacing as he tried to find the exact words to say.

“What?” she asked, peering up at him, questioning. 

“So…how come you’re not patrolling with Deadboy? Usually the two of you are attached at the…well, I would say the hip but I don’t even want to think about the two of you and your pelvic regions,” he frowned and she grinned reluctantly. 

“Wills didn’t tell you?” the blonde wondered, looking away from the boy, her voice timid. When he shook his head no she sighed. “Angel and I are…we’re together but not, you know? There are just some things we have to deal with before we see each other again. I guess he just wanted to make things easier on me tonight by asking Will to patrol with him. Give me space and all that…”

“Sure,” he replied, disbelief obvious in his tone. If Buffy noticed she didn’t comment. “Are you okay though? I mean, you and Angel, how are you dealing?” It was hard to play the concerned friend when he was quite happy that she wasn’t with Angel right now. 

“I’m not, really,” she admitted, trudging on through the gated entrance of the cemetery. “I don’t know. Part of me knows that this is Angel, he would never hurt me. But there is another part of me that recognizes him as a vampire, as something evil. Must be a slayer thing, no sleeping with the enemy,” At Xander’s disgruntled look she managed a grin. “Figuratively speaking, Xand. It’s just…he’s Angel, and I love Angel. But at the same time, he was Angelus, and Angelus was nothing more than a murderer. How do you deal with the fact that your honey was once the most feared vamp in history? I just don’t know.”

Xander held his tongue, fighting his urge to tell his friend to go with her instincts, remember that Angel, in the end, was still a demon. She was the slayer after all. Slayers are not supposed to date demons. Buffy seemed to be drawn to the creatures they fought. First Angel, then Dracula, and lastly Spike. What was it with her and dead guys anyway. But that wasn’t the point. He would freely admit that he had never been Angel’s biggest fan, but his relationship with the slayer brought the blonde nothing but pain and heartache. In the end, their love wasn’t enough, it never would be. Angel had a mission and Buffy had a destiny and the two didn’t mix. But instead of just telling her to dump Angel as fast as she could, he remained silent, like a good friend. Sometimes he hated being the good friend. 

Shaking off his own distracting thoughts, he threw a loose arm around Buffy’s shoulders, pulling her closer and giving her his trademark goofy grin. “Cheer up, Buff. Now,” he said as she looked up at him, “why don’t we head on to St. Mark’s and you can take out your frustrations on some unsuspecting vamp?” 

“Ah, you always know what to say, Xand,” she cooed with a tiny giggle before her expression sobered. “Thanks Xander.” The sincerity in her voice and the seriousness on her face made him pause. She was thanking him for just listening, for not judging or adding any of the comments that had been poised on his tongue. He smiled tightly.

“Anytime Buff, anytime…”

 

 

Willow squinted as she searched the shadows for any lurking creatures in need of dusting. She was a witch on the prowl, eyes darting about the darkness for any sign of danger. Angel’s eyes, on the other hand, were focused solely on the redhead who was about a foot ahead of him. She could feel him staring and tried her best to ignore it. But he had been doing this for a while now, just watching silently. It was beginning to get on her nerves. She didn’t know why he was doing it; hell, she didn’t even know why he wanted to patrol with her tonight. But it would have been rude to question him on his motivations as soon as they left the high school. If he kept doing that though, she wouldn’t be held responsible for her actions. 

“What?!” she barked, stopping suddenly in the middle of the unusually quiet graveyard across from St. Joseph’s church. Spinning on her heel she fixed an unemotional Angel with a glare. “What is it?! Do I have something on my face? Is my hair sticking up and looking all funky? What?”

Angel didn’t reply, just shrugged and for the first time that night, looked away, scanning the area for any undead. He felt a slight pull inside him, something that told him there was someone lurking about. But it wasn’t particularly strong and unless the feel became stronger he was prepared to simply ignore it. He had a mission tonight, and it wasn’t to hunt for vampires.

“Don’t give me that,” Willow snapped with a frown. “You’ve been all glower-y. Oh, and let me tell you, just so you know, staring isn’t polite. What’s up with you tonight?”

“Nothing is…up with me,” he drawled, returning his gaze to her own.

“You are so lying,” she declared, crossing her arms over her chest. “First,” she began with a pointed stare, “you asked to patrol with me. Scratch that, you demanded I patrol with you. That *never* happens. Second,” she continued, cocking her head to the side, “You’ve decided to become my own personal shadow, which is majorly annoying in case you weren’t aware. Thirdly, you’ve been staring at me all night. You never pay that much attention to me. Usually you don’t even realize I’m in the same room as you. And fourthly,” she huffed as he looked on blankly. “Well, I don’t have a fourth point, but you get the idea. What’s your problem tonight?”

“I don’t trust you,” Angel said, short and to the point, not willing to sugarcoat it for her. She looked at him incredulously. So wrapped up in the fuming redhead before him, Angel unconsciously ignored his body’s warning that there was a vampire approaching, and not just some minion, someone with power.

“Excuse me?” breathed Willow, her mouth slightly agape. Her earlier anger had now given way to utter surprise at his declaration. “After…after everything I’ve done to help. After all I have done for Buffy, you don’t trust me?” 

“Right,” he acknowledged with a stern nod, a tiny smirk on his face.

“Why?” she couldn’t help but ask, a feeling of worry settling uncomfortably at the pit of her stomach.

“You know,” he sighed, relaxing his stance, “I overheard the most interesting conversation the other day.”

“Oh…” she prompted him to continue anxiously. 

“Yeah, you’ll never guess who it was about,” Angel added, his artificially relaxed and cheery voice turning hard and cold. “So tell me, Wills, how do you know Spike?”

“We all know Spike,” Willow shrugged nonchalantly, trying to remain calm. “He is trying to kill all of us, you know.”

“Funny,” he growled, displeased. “I’ll cut to the chase. You and my errant childe had a chat. And since Spike never has civil conversations with mortals that don’t end in bloodshed, and you’re standing here in one piece, I want to know what it was you two kids talked about.” 

“You’d be better off not knowing,” she warned him darkly. Giving up on acting coy and innocent, Willow straightened; her body tense. 

“Tell. Me.” Angel demanded with a barely repressed snarl. 

“I am no threat to you, or Buffy for that matter,” the witch informed him tersely. “I would have thought you’d have known that by now. But you don’t know what you’re asking. You will just have to take my word for it. I am not working with Spike. I dare to say he hates me a heck of a lot more right now than he does any of you. But that is all I can tell you. I’m sorry.” With that, she turned on her heel and headed for the exit, Angel running to catch up with her. 

Easily matching her stride, Angel glared down at her as she walked, the twosome quickly approaching her house. “I don’t think so. You can’t just brush me off. I know you and Xander are up to something, I knew it from the day I met you. It’s only a matter of time until I find out what the hell it is you’re hiding!”

“You might be right,” she acquiesced. “But that time isn’t tonight.” He followed as she practically raced down the street and up her front porch, unwilling to end their conversation. He wanted answers, needed answers, and she was damn well going to give him some. 

Not bothering with her keys, Willow waved her hand, muttering a quick incantation. She heard the locks of her front door click and she opened her door swiftly, stepping inside her house. Angel, never one to be put off, was right behind her. Right up until he slammed into the invisible barrier, a protection that her house provided. He growled, his face nearly shifting at his utter frustration. 

Willow turned slowly, regarding the angry vampire with a cool gaze. 

“Let me in,” he ordered in a low snarl. 

“Hell no,” she said frostily. “Goodnight Angel,” she offered with a fake smile before unceremoniously slamming the door in his face. She sighed and nearly collapsed against the wood as she closed her eyes in resignation. She couldn’t help but jump when Angel gave the door one last angry punch before storming off down the street, furious that she had refused him. 

“Nice talking to you too,” she muttered with a tired frown as she pushed herself away from the door. Her fingers moved up to rub at her temples, trying to ease the headache she felt coming on. As if things weren’t bad enough with Spike, now Angel suspected her of betraying them, and she had no way to explain it that wouldn’t create a whole new set of problems. Groaning she trekked up the stairs, sometimes she really hated her life.

 

Spike pondered the house he was standing in front of. It was a modest ranch-style home with a large tree in front, a wooden porch complete with a bench sat, welcoming all those who passed by. It was a typical scene in suburbs across America; Spike had seen it many times before. 

His focus shifted from the front porch to the upstairs, where a light had just been turned on. He could barely make out a silhouette moving just behind the curtains. It didn’t matter; he already knew who it was. 

He had been surprised to stumble on Red and his sire, fighting in the middle of St. Joe’s. Staying in the safety of the shadows, he observed them curiously. Seemed the little witch was keeping secrets from her friends as well. He couldn’t resist following them, interested to see what Willow would tell Angel. He had never managed to find the girl’s home before; it was a nice little place. He held in a chuckle when the chit had the audacity to slam the door in the Poof’s face. Only after seeing Angel stalking down the street did he finally step into the light of the streetlamp. 

Taking one last look at the house before him, he turned silently and made his way back to factory. He wasn’t in the mood for a confrontation with the girl tonight. Soon, but not tonight. 

 

Chapter Twenty-five:

 

She was sitting on her parent’s burgundy sofa when Xander shuffled through the front door. He wasn’t too surprised to see the redhead still up, it was only a little after midnight by now and they were accustomed to not going to bed until around two or three in the morning, school or not. 

“Wills,” he acknowledged with a nod of his head, maneuvering his tired frame into the cushioned armchair by the fireplace. 

“Xand,” she replied in turn, voice unnaturally hard. His expression dissolved into a frown at her tone of voice and he looked up hesitantly at the tense witch.

“What happened with Angel?” he asked immediately, already knowing the vampire was the cause of her worries. If it wasn’t Spike, it was Angel. What was it about them and vampires? 

Her sharp bark of laughter caught him off guard and she shook her head ruefully. “How did you know he was what was bothering me?”

“He’s Angel, he always bothers me. Why shouldn’t he bother you?” Xander said teasingly before turning grimly serious. “But I could tell he was up to something tonight. I swear, the way he practically dragged you out of the library, I should have stopped him…”

“Knock it off, Xan,” Willow sighed with a tight smile. “You didn’t do anything wrong. Angel–he knows I spoke with Spike. He knows there is something up with us and he is demanding answers,” she revealed solemnly. 

“And what did you tell him?” Xander asked coolly, sitting up a little straighter.

“Um, that it was none of his business,” she admitted, face a bit red with remembrance. “And then I slammed the door in his face.” 

“You slammed the door in his face!” he exclaimed, astonished. “That’s not fair! I want to slam the door in his face!”

“Way to stay on track, Xander,” she giggled with a shake of her head. 

“So what do we do about Deadboy?” he asked, forcing himself to be serious once more. “Don’t tell me you’re going to take the Spike route and spill the beans, because I’m thinking that didn’t work out very well the first time.”

“We tell him nothing,” she swore, resolve face firmly in place. “Angel’s nosy, and he’s determined to find out what we might be hiding. We have to be careful around him. Watch what you say when there’s even the slightest possibility that he’s around.”

“But what about Buffy and Giles?” he asked anxiously. “Now that he knows something’s up won’t he go running to them to inform them of our supposed evilness?”

“He won’t,” Willow assured him, lips compressed into a thin line. “He has no proof and Buffy won’t believe him until he can prove it. Giles might side with him, but he dislikes Angel almost as much as you do, so who knows? Either way, he’ll have to bide his time until he can show them some hard evidence that we can’t be trusted. In the meantime, expect to find him lurking around. He’s going to be waiting for the perfect time to pounce, to prove that we’re some sort of threat. You just watch what you say, I’ll handle Angel. Stupid, ignorant, interfering, broody vampire…” she muttered unhappily, crossing her arms over her chest and leaning back against the cushions of the sofa.

This was all so hard for her. Angel, who had been a trusted if not slightly distant friend in the past, was now so suspicious of them, so…harsh. He didn’t even try to be friendly anymore. Ever since they had come upon him when they saved Buffy from the Master he had this idea that they were here as a part of some sinister plot to hurt Buffy. There was nothing they could do to seemingly earn his hard won trust. They saved Buffy, helped her defeat the bad guys on numerous occasions, and yet none of it seemed to matter to him. Sure, he found out she had spoken to Spike, alone, and come out unscathed which was unusual, but why did he have to automatically assume she was up to something? How could she and Xander put the past to rest, truly move on with their new lives, if Angel was hovering over their shoulders, waiting for them to screw up? 

Xander opened his mouth, prepared to argue with the tiny girl, and paused. Her eyes were clenched shut tightly, her head thrown back to rest against the couch, and her whole body radiated tension and something more that made his heart ache. Sadness, but it was more than that. It was unhappiness, a cloud of despondency and discontent just seemed to hover over her and he didn’t know what he could say to make it better. Closing his mouth, he stood from his chair, looking at the redhead sorrowfully before leaning over to place a whisper of a kiss on her forehead. She didn’t move, didn’t even acknowledge he was there. He smiled sadly and left her alone, knowing she needed some time to her self. He headed for the stairs, hoping for once to get a decent night’s sleep, but in light of recent events, he knew that was probably impossible.

Willow heard his soft footsteps fade as Xander made his way up the stairs. Moments later she let her eyes open, her green gaze staring blankly ahead toward the front door. It wasn’t fair. None of this was her idea. She hadn’t been the one desperate to turn back the clock. She wasn’t the one who wanted to relive all this over again. Common sense had told her it was a foolish idea, that some things couldn’t be changed, no matter how much you wished or prayed. She should have listened. But once again she was blinded by the all consuming need to help Xander, to make him better, and her common sense flew out the window. 

This wasn’t the first time she had performed a spell without thinking about the possible consequences, but it was so much worse than before. At least before when she screwed up, she had a close, tight-knit group of people that could be counted on to be by her side, to help her fix her mess. But now Buffy was still a friend, but they weren’t that close. Giles was so formal around her, acting more the teacher than the father figure he had come to represent to her. And Angel, well, he pretty much seemed to hate her. They had never been that close before, but she always knew if she ever needed anything, he would be there for her. Before he would save her life without a second thought, now he would probably be content to just throw her to the wolves. And it hurt. 

Xander was the only one she had left. Maybe that was how it was supposed to be. In the beginning, before Buffy and vampires, before wacky spells and First Evils, it was just the two of them, people had come and gone, but in the end it was just the two of them. But that thought only depressed her even more. She loved Xander, heart and soul, but she wanted more from life. Lately though, life hadn’t been her friend. Maybe it was payback, backlash from the spell that sent them here, but whatever it was, it made her miserable. 

It wasn’t fair. Xander had been the one who wanted this so badly, but when all their troubles started, when Spike began to become suspicious, when Angel became confrontational, Xander was able to walk away. But not her, poor Willow, always the responsible one. She was left alone to deal with the mess they both made, left to pacify angry vampires and come up with explanations for something even she didn’t fully understand. It didn’t seem right. Why was he able to stand by the sidelines while she was being pulled in different directions? Why was she the only one who really seemed to be paying for their mistake?

An errant tear fell from her eye, sliding slowly, languidly down her pale cheek before dropping from her jaw, leaving a single, tiny wet dot on her shirt. What she wouldn’t give to see Anya right now, as strange as that might sound. The vengeance demon still had her powers and all Willow wanted to do was wish her life back to normal. But wishing was pointless. No doubt if she even managed to find Anya, the demon would be counted on to screw up her only wish and she, with her luck, would probably find her self worse off than before. 

With a heavy sigh, Willow stood, brushing down her rumpled clothing and running a hand over her face. She scrubbed away any trace of tears on her face, leaving her cheeks a bit red from the chaffing. She schooled her face into a cool, collected façade. Now wasn’t the time for a crying jag, she had to be strong, resilient. If she wasn’t, then who would be? Not Xander that was for sure. Straightening her back, she walked stiffly to the stairs. Right now she just wanted to go to bed. She would worry about what to do about Angel and Spike tomorrow. And unfortunately tomorrow would come soon enough. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

He let a small, sad smile cross his usually hard face as he stepped through the doorway and into the lavish bedroom that seemed to shine amidst the gloom of the factory. Drusilla was lying quietly on top of the covers of her four poster bed, her pale blue dress, the color of the mid-afternoon sky, arranged so that it didn’t wrinkle while she rested. Her closed eyes fluttered open when she felt someone enter her room and smiled tiredly at her visitor. Struggling to sit up, moving slowly as she smoothed down her gown and lay back against the pillows at the head of her bed, Dru watched as he sat gently on the edge of her bed.

“How you feeling, pet?” Spike asked his voice low and worried. Lately Dru was the only one who managed to get him out of the funk he had been in since Willow’s confession. He was still angry and confused, which caused him to sink further and further into himself. But just one glance at Dru, at the woman he cared for more than anything, the one he loved like a sister who was still so weak, and he was himself again.

“Sleepy,” she murmured, eyes half closed. A smile, that looked almost secretive, tugged at her lips and she began to hum to herself, a tune Spike couldn’t place even after all his years on earth. 

“Did you eat anything?” he pressed, sighing sorrowfully with a tinge of frustration when she absently shook her head. “Ducks, you need to feed. You’re not strong enough to go without.”

“Hmmm, wasn’t hungry,” Dru replied, a sullen pout on her face. 

Spike took a deep, unneeded breath and clenched his fists. This was so hard sometimes, looking after her. She was stubborn when she wanted to be and there was no arguing with her, mostly due to the insanity that was forced upon her over a century ago. He tried his best to stay calm; to try to make her see reason, but some days there was only so much he could take. On those days, he would leave. Just for a walk or a bite to eat, he was never gone for very long. That was the reason he had been out tonight, in fact. He just needed sometime to himself, without minions puttering about or Dru speaking in nonsensical riddles. It had been a productive night though, he had the pleasure of seeing Angel get berated by the tiny redhead who had thoroughly mucked up his life, and he found out where the little witch lived. 

Drusilla’s soft, breathy giggle drew him out of his thoughts and he smiled tightly down at her. He stood, slipping off his duster before moving to sit beside Dru on the bed, his back resting against the headboard. The brunette shifted, gently resting her head against his shoulder and closing her eyes. Spike moved a bit, wrapping one arm around her shoulders so she could sit more comfortably. 

“Miss Edith said you saw Daddy tonight,” she mumbled, her voice slightly muffled by his shirts. “I…I miss him…” she admitted in a hushed whisper. “Do you miss him, Spike?”

“Sometimes,” he replied after a tense moment. He was always completely honest with Dru, no matter how much the truth displeased him. “But yeah, I saw him. We didn’t chat though, he was…busy.”

“He was being naughty,” she said, her voice distant, like she was somewhere else. That was most likely the truth, at least when she had a vision or was talking to the stars. She was there, but not. “Saying nasty things to the little girl…little tree…” 

“That he was,” Spike nodded. “But the chit took care of it, told him off right proper.”

“She confuses me, Spike,” Drusilla whined, her hands raised to her temples, the palms of her hands resting against her head. Her nails dug into her hair and to her scalp until Spike sat up and gently pried her clenched fists open and pulled them away from her head. 

“Confuses me too,” he muttered under his breath.

“I see her, in my head,” she explained, looking up at him with wide, fathomless eyes. “She tries to be strong, to be brave, but she can’t do it much longer. She’s too many things at once. She’s a woman in the body of a teenager, a sorcerer with the appearance of an amateur, an old soul in shiny new wrapping…”

Her eyes glazed over and she tilted her head to the right, “Her thoughts run in circles, round and round…she doesn’t understand. She asked for help from her Goddess, but…” she leaned in close to him, a conspiratorial grin on her face, “that’s not who answered…” she finished, eyes lit up with dark delight. 

“What are you saying, pet?” Spike asked warily, eyes narrowed. 

“I–” she began, before stopping. Her eyes became clear once more, lucid. He knew in an instant whatever had been speaking to her was gone, just his luck. With a heavy sigh, he pulled away from the brunette and stood, moving to search his duster pockets for his cigarettes and lighter. 

“Spike?” The blonde turned and looked over his shoulder. Dru was sitting on the edge of her bed, legs dangling off the side. There was more candlelight shining on her form now and he could see the dark circles under her eyes, the unnatural pallor of her skin, she looked exhausted. “I’m tired.”

Her voice, eerily reminiscent of a child’s, was pleading and his earlier frustration almost vanished entirely. He crossed the room silently and lifted her in his arms and placed her down on the overstuffed chair to the side of the bed. Leaving her there he turned down the bed, moving the comforter and sheets back and rearranging the pillows so she could rest more comfortably. When he was done, he lifted her up once more and laid her down gently on the soft mattress. He removed her shoes before tucking her in and brushing an errant strand of hair from her face. 

Smiling gratefully, Dru let her eyelids drift shut under his watchful eye. He smiled sadly and grabbed his duster before slipping out of her room. “Sleep well, ducks.”

 

Chapter Twenty-six:

 

Willow was sitting alone in her living room, content to remain in the deafening silence. It was now an hour past sunset, but she wasn’t on her way to the library. She had elected to call in sick today, skipping both school and the Scooby meeting. Xander still went, and Angel was probably simmering at her disappearance, but she just wasn’t in the mood for research. She was truly beginning to believe her life was destined to suck beyond the telling of it and there was nothing she could do to change it. This sort of pessimism didn’t come naturally to the redhead, but she had been kicked while she was down for too long now to be happy go lucky. 

She was curled up on her sofa, knees tucked to her chest. It was a cool night so she had thrown on a pair of jeans and a yellow thermal, not exactly the most flattering outfit, but who was she trying to impress? She rested her head against her knees, letting out a tired, shaky breath and closing her eyes. There were some days when she wondered why she bothered to get out of bed and this was turning out to be one of those. 

Maybe fifteen minutes later, there came a knock on her front door. It wasn’t pounding, or overly loud, just a calm subdued knock. Glancing curiously at the ticking clock on the mantle, she frowned. Xander wouldn’t have even left for patrol yet, so there was no way that could be him. He wouldn’t be home for another two or three hours at the earliest. And it couldn’t be your garden variety door-to-door salesman, not so long after dark and especially in Sunnydale. People here were ignorant, but most avoided staying out long after sunset.

Resignedly Willow stood, not about to call out a welcome, she had learned her lesson well. She peeked out the tiny window beside the front door and froze at who she saw. Taking a step back, she blinked and shook her head before looking back outside. When she realized she wasn’t seeing things, she swallowed convulsively and unlocked the deadbolt, slowly turning the doorknob and letting the door swing open with a squeak.

“Evening, pet,” Spike smiled falsely, his insincerity quite obvious. 

“What the hell are you doing here?” the witch hissed, eyes narrowing. She studiously remained inside the safety of her house, knowing that if she fought with Spike tonight, she wouldn’t stand a chance, not in her present condition. “How did you find out where I live?”

“I have eyes everywhere,” he smirked cryptically. She glared at him, looking annoyed at his flippant response. “Oh come on Red, I’m evil here. Did you really expect a straight answer out of me? I know you aren’t *that* daft.” 

“What do you want?” she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest protectively.

“Just came to chat,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “I don’t suppose you’d care to invite me in?”

“As you said, I’m not that daft,” Willow retorted smartly. He grinned at her response, but it was cold and hard. “If you have something to say, then I suggest you say it and leave.”

“Now that’s no way to treat a guest,” he admonished, “but then again, I think you have trouble with your manners. You’re not supposed to slam doors in your guest’s faces either, but that didn’t seem to stop you. Must have pissed off Paingel right good, some chit blowing him off like that…” 

She didn’t bother asking him how he knew about her confrontation with Angel, he wouldn’t tell her anyhow. 

“You’re just making friends left and right aren’t you?” he mocked with a sardonic chuckle. Shaking his head humorlessly, Spike leaned against the invisible barrier barring him from crossing the threshold to her home. “The watcher doesn’t trust you, Peaches thinks you’re evil. Keep going like this and you won’t even have that idiot Xapper to count on.”

“And what about you?” she asked listlessly, cocking her head to the side in questioning. “Do you hate me, think I’m evil?”

“What makes you think that I think about you at all?” he countered icily.

“Well, you’re here, aren’t you?” she replied with a raised eyebrow. “So, am I evil? Do you loathe me as much as your sire does?” Her voice was raised, but she didn’t notice. Her words flew out of her mouth, unable to be controlled. Her nerves were shot and she was just too stressed and tired for this.

“Evil, nah,” he scoffed with a roll of his eyes. “I haven’t decided whether I hate you or not, but it’s safe to say your not at the top of the list of my favorite people at the moment.”

“Damn and I so hoped we could be best friends,” she snorted indelicately. That was the wrong thing to say. Spike’s blue eyes narrowed angrily and he straightened almost imperceptibly, his fists clenched at his sides. “Look, we have nothing to say to each other. So why don’t you go and do something–vampire-y and leave me be?” she suggested in exasperation. 

“We have nothing to say to each other?” he sneered incredulously. “You still haven’t told me everything you know, what you changed in my life! So I damn well think we have something to talk about!” He was shouting now, but he didn’t care. If someone overheard him and came to investigate, he’d just kill them and go back to yelling at her. “You can keep secrets from Angelus, hell I encourage it, but I will *not* be kept in the bloody dark!” 

“Why do you want to know?” Willow demanded her voice shaky. “What difference will it make? You can’t change anything! I can’t change anything! Believe me if there was a way to reverse this damn spell, I would have done it! You think you’re the only one whose life was screwed up?” she countered, eyes glassy with unshed tears borne of frustration. “Sure, you didn’t ask for any of this, but you know what? Neither did I. Life wasn’t supposed to turn out like this! Everything’s all wrong; you don’t think I know that?”

Caught off guard by her unexpected rant, Spike took an unintentional step back. Seeing what he had done, he puffed up his chest and stepped toward her again, regaining ground as she screeched at him. 

“I hate it here!” Willow cried, “I hate that I’ve lost my friends, that I can’t just be happy. No, I’m too busy dealing with obnoxious, nosy vampires to even rest!” she added with a harsh glare in the blonde’s direction.

“Hey!” he barked, “You mucked with my life and you are calling me nosy?!”

“Fine,” the redhead gave in, “you want to know it all? You want to know what the life of William the Bloody was like before, then fine. Just don’t get mad at me when you don’t like my answers.” 

He stared at her, waiting. Spike echoed her posture, arms crossed over his chest, feet shoulder width apart, expression blank. 

“You came to Sunnydale to try to kill the Slayer and strengthen Drusilla,” she began tonelessly. “You managed to make Dru well, but in the process got a church dropped on you, nice going there by the way,” she smirked at his growl. “Then Angel lost his soul, something I’m determined to make sure doesn’t happen again, and he took over your spot as Master while you were stuck in a wheelchair. Angelus spent too much time shagging Dru and making plans to destroy the world to pay attention to you and you went to Buffy for help in stopping him. Some Slayer of Slayers you were,” she snorted. “So she stopped him, and he got his soul back, and you and Dru left town.”

Spike shifted uncomfortably from his spot on the porch, but she didn’t pay attention to him. “But were you smart enough to stay away? Oh no. Dru left you and you came back, all pathetic and weepy, kidnapped me and Xander and demanded I perform a love spell to bring her back to you. You came to your senses, and I use that term loosely, and left again. But the next year you were back and after the Gem of Amara. Found it too, but Buffy took from you and gave it to Angel. That must have sucked, huh?” she laughed coldly. 

“Soon enough you were back in Sunnydale to kill Buffy and managed to get yourself caught by a secret military organization and they shoved a microchip in your head. Poor Spikey wasn’t able to feed anymore, couldn’t even hit a human. So guess what you did?” she teased, her face in a mask of amusement. “You ran to the Slayer for help *again*. And she didn’t stake you. She just locked you up in Giles’ bathtub for safekeeping. But we figured you were as harmless as a puppy after awhile and we let you loose. But here’s a twist! You discovered you could still hurt demons! And you being you wanted your daily dose of pointless violence, so you hunted *vampires* for fun.” Willow didn’t think a vampire could actually pale, but he did. Spike looked both angry and disbelieving, and she hadn’t even gotten to the best part yet. 

“But it gets better,” she taunted, leaning against her door lazily. “Somehow, after spending all that time patrolling with Buffy, you actually managed to fall in love with the Slayer.” She paused, letting it sink it. His jaw dropped and he shook his head furiously in denial but she didn’t give him the chance to argue. “Yeah, as stupid as that sounds, you fell for Buffy, hard. And she hated you, but did that stop you? Nope. You just had this uber nerd Warren build a love-bot who looked like her to keep you company! Buffy found out about that though and it was taken away from you. Thank God because it was really icky!” she remembered with a disgusted shudder.

“Now I’m gonna skip ahead,” she decided with a shrug of her shoulders. “But eventually, Buffy ended up hating life, she felt empty. So she used you to make her feel. She took your twisted love and devotion and used it to make herself feel better, but she still hated you. But did you do anything about it? No, you took it and came back for more. And then, when she still pushed you away, you left and did the dumbest thing. You went and got a soul for her. You thought she would finally love you if you had a soul, like Angel. But she didn’t. She liked you more after that, respected you, but she never loved you. And then the First started attacking us and when we went to the final battle, you were there, wearing an amulet that had some power but none of us knew what it was. You, Buffy, and the others went down into the pit of the hell mouth and maybe you can guess what happened next. But in case you don’t know, you died in there. You burned to save the world, to save the life of a Slayer you loved who, even as you died, couldn’t bring her self to love you…”

Spike could say nothing. He wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. He fell for a Slayer but that was impossible. He couldn’t stand the bitch. He wanted to see her dead more than anything. But at the same time, he knew the witch wasn’t lying. She spoke the truth there was no deception, just sadness and utter honesty. But he still didn’t want to believe it.

“Are you glad you know now?” Willow asked softly, looking at him sorrowfully, seeing his shock and dismay. “Will it make you sleep better? Does it do your inquisitive mind good to know that before you died saving the world all for the love of a woman who was born to destroy your kind, who took from you all the time and gave nothing in return? Are you relieved now that you know that you turned into a whipped shell of your former self?” 

“No,” he admitted so quietly she almost didn’t hear it. His head was hanging down in contemplation, his hands shaking slightly. 

“Welcome to my world,” she smiled tightly. “You think all these changes are easier on me because I remember my life from before, but you’re wrong. I live with all of my memories *every* minute of the day and it makes everything so much harder. I didn’t tell you all of this before because, me being the empathetic person that I am, I wanted to spare you this. You were angry and hurt enough just knowing your life changed, I didn’t want to add to it. You made me and I only hope it gives you some sort of peace now, although I’m not sure how that’s possible.” 

“How–how do you get past it all?” he asked, his voice monotone. 

“Don’t know,” she admitted with a half-hearted shrug. “I haven’t yet. I just keep praying to the Goddess that everything will get better.”

He snorted in amusement, “Your Goddess,” he sniffed, shaking his head. “Sod your bloody Goddess. What the hell has that bint done for you lately?”

“Don’t,” she commanded, but he didn’t head her warning. He needed to strike out at someone and she was as good as anyone.

“Don’t you get it, witch?” Spike smirked. “Your Goddess doesn’t give a damn about you. If she did do you think your life would have turned out like this? Do you think you’d be so sodding miserable if your beloved Goddess was watching out for you? She turned her back on you long ago, just like everyone else around you.”

“Shut up,” she hissed angrily. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. Don’t–”

“You prayed to this Goddess when you performed this blasted spell, didn’t you?” She gave him a jerky nod and he grinned deviously. “Yeah, well hate to break it to you Red, but your girl didn’t answer you. Your Goddess ignored your pleas for help, ignored *you*, and you still are devoted to her. Now who’s a whipped shell of their former self, eh?” 

“Now you’re just making stuff up,” she replied angrily.

“Dru has visions, pet. She’s connected to that bloody Goddess you talk about. And guess what, love?” he taunted, glaring at her form in the doorway. “She knows who answered your prayer, and it wasn’t who you were hoping for.”

“Oh yeah?” Willow bit out, her confidence faltering. “How can you be so sure that–?” she started, but was cut off by the shrill ringing of the phone. She and Spike stood there, unmoving, both shaken and a little disoriented by the sudden noise. When it rang again, the noise seemed to finally pierce through to her brain and she shook her head.

Turning her back on the vampire, Willow walked slowly to the phone that rested on the end table by the armchair. “Hello?” she greeted, her voice strained.

Spike watched as her posture straightened, but from his distance he couldn’t make out who was on the other line.

“Xander?” she asked curiously, brow furrowed when she heard her best friend’s voice come over the phone. “What’s the matter?”

“You need to get down to Restfield Cemetery Wills,” he said gravely, voice shaky and nervous, “Now.”

“Why?” she frowned, glancing over her shoulder nervously at Spike. 

“It’s important, just come here,” he pleaded. “Buffy’s here too, but you need to see this.”

“Xander,” she tried to argue. He was confusing her. What could be so dire that he wanted her to walk through darkened Sunnydale to see them? “What the hell is it?”

“It–we found–” he choked out, forcing the worrisome words out of his mouth, “It’s a Bringer.”


	8. Chapters 27-29

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick note, so everyone remembers, techinically Buffy has died once (she drowned in "Prophecy Girl"). You'll see why this is necessary to recall later on this chapter.

Chapter Twenty-Seven:

 

The phone line went dead only seconds after Xander stammered that he had found a Bringer, leaving Willow to stare at the object blindly. Listlessly, Willow placed the phone back in its cradle, green eyes staring off into space. Worry, confusion, fear, all these feelings and much more were clearly etched across her face and she sighed, a quick expulsion of air that seemed too loud in the suddenly quiet living room. She ran a hand through her hair and it took her a second to realize that she was shaking.

She hoped there was a chance he had been wrong. From what she remembered, the Bringers didn’t appear in good ole Sunnydale until senior year of high school. They, along with the First, had tormented Angel, trying to get him to kill Buffy and turn to ‘the dark side’, as cheesy as that may sound. But when that didn’t work, they had been content to settle for his fiery death. Thanks to the Powers though, Angel had not burned at dawn. Instead, the citizens of southern California had woken early that morning to see snowflakes floating in the air and heavy clouds graying the sky.

What could it mean then, for Bringers to be here already? It wouldn’t be the first time since their arrival back in the Sunnydale of years ago that something had gone wrong or changed drastically. But this was by far the most worrisome of the changes. The chiming of her parent’s grandfather clock, that signaled the arrival of the nine o’clock hour, woke her from her shock induced stupor. Her expression changed from conflicted and fearful to deadly serious in the blink of an eye. 

Taking a deep, steadying breath, Willow walked purposely to the stairs, taking them two at time. She hastily grabbed her new leather jacket and a few spare stakes. This article of clothing was quickly being a staple of her wardrobe. She had found it two weeks before and knew it was perfect for her. There were hidden pockets on the inside, big enough to conceal bottles of holy water and even a smaller stake. She grabbed her frequently worn necklace, the silver crucifix she usually kept hidden in case her far too absent parents decided to pay a visit, and slipped it around her neck as an extra safety precaution. Patting down her jacket, she was satisfied that she was properly armed for a nighttime stroll on the hell mouth, and raced back down the stairs. 

Grabbing her house keys from their resting place by the lamp that her Aunt Karen had given her parents as an anniversary gift, she turned back to the front door, intent on zooming through the door and to Restfield as fast as her feet could carry her.

“Where do you think you’re going?” 

Willow closed her eyes, annoyed at her own forgetfulness. How the hell could she forget that Spike was still lingering about on her porch? Oh yeah, she was in the middle of a nervous breakdown, that’s how. When she opened her eyes once more, they were steely with determination and a hint of aggression. She almost wanted him to pick a fight with her; she was seriously in the mood for some violence. Maybe it would make her feel better. 

“Out,” she replied simply. His cool, nonchalant expression turned into a withering glare at her flippant response. “I think we are done here, don’t you? You got what you came for and I have more important things to be doing than trading barbs with you.”

“Is that so?” Spike asked voice low and monotone. 

“Yes,” the redhead said brusquely. She took another bold step toward the door, only a matter of feet away from the steaming blonde, protected from his anger only by an invisible barrier. “May I make a suggestion?” she asked sweetly, saccharine oozing from her voice, when he failed to move out of her way.

“Go right ahead, love,” he smirked, forcing a look of amusement onto his stoic face. 

“I suggest you remove yourself from my doorway before I am forced to remove you myself,” the witch said with a cold grin. 

“I dunno,” he shrugged infuriatingly. He straightened his back, trying to make himself seem taller, puffing out his chest in an attempt to give his lean form more bulk. “I might be in the mood to be manhandled tonight. You offering?” 

Spike watched, doing his best to conceal his anxiousness, as the redhead glowered at him, her usually vibrant green eyes darkening to an almost pitch black. Without even a single word spoken, the witch raised her hand, palm outward, and he felt a sudden tightening in his body. Unable to comprehend what was happening, Spike tried to move but found he was immobile. A quick wave of her hand and he was thrown clear of the porch and across the lawn. His head was wracked with intense pain as it hit the trunk of the lone tree in her front yard, slamming against the solid object hard enough to make him see the stars that Drusilla spoke so fondly of. 

He was trying to clear his head, vision cloudy, when he heard the soft, “Sorry.” Looking up from his spot on the ground he saw Willow stop feet away from his prone form, glancing down at him with a frown, her eyes still unnaturally dark. He could tell, from the mere tone of her voice that she wasn’t sorry for what she had done; only that she had been forced to do it. He blinked, blue eyes fighting to focus, but when he opened them again, she was gone.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow walked briskly down the street, now about three blocks away from Restfield Cemetery. She had left Spike sprawled across her front lawn five minutes before and was making pretty good time, which she was thankful for. He had caused an unexpected delay and she wasn’t in the mood for a lecture from Xander about her tardiness on top of everything else. It was best not to anger Xander when he was like this, stressed and scared. He would snap at her, say things he didn’t mean, hurtful things that while she knew weren’t really true would cause a pain in her heart much like a physical wound. 

As she neared the cemetery, she could hear muffled voices. Both were male, one distinctly British. Her heart plummeted when she realized that Giles was there, and most likely Angel as well. She had hoped that it would only be Xander and Buffy. Buffy, while naturally curious, was more likely to kill things without asking for details, a trait she was truly beginning to appreciate in her friend. But Angel and Giles would have questions no doubt and she wasn’t sure how to explain the significance of the presence of a Bringer without giving away too many of her own secrets. 

Pushing the iron gates open, she winced when they creaked loudly in the stillness of the night. The foursome congregated almost twenty feet away turned as one, Buffy brandishing her usual stake but lowering it as soon as she saw who it was. Giles looked almost relieved to see her, which came as a surprise. Normally he was never overly thrilled about her presence, but considering she was pretty much the monster expert in these parts, he was happier to see her than she remembered in quite some time. 

Buffy looked flustered. Her long blonde hair had been pulled into a tight ponytail, but there were a few errant strands that had come out of place. She seemed tired, which wasn’t unusual considering her late hours and continuous lack of sleep. Willow noticed that the sleeve of her coat had been ripped open, the cut looking clean and precise, most likely made by some sort of dagger or sword, and there was a thin trail of blood where her arm was visible. It was the merest of flesh wounds, but still a wound nonetheless. The Slayer smiled exhaustedly at the redhead and Willow returned it with a nervous grin of her own.

Angel wasn’t a happy vampire. His expression, which had been positively grim when she had arrived, had turned into one of absolute menace at the sight of her. She felt a pang of sorrow, unwilling to believe that things had deteriorated between them so badly so quickly. She saw him glance warily at Xander before turning his attention back to her, frowning at the young man. She could understand his obvious curiosity and suspicion. Xander was staring down at the body between them all with an expression much akin to absolute horror. 

They all had formed a circle around the man, Giles standing by the head, Buffy and Xander on either side of his arms, and Angel at the feet. The robe clad man was lying on the ground at an angle that made it glaringly obvious he was no longer alive. Willow stepped closer to the huddled group, placing her hand gently on Xander’s shoulder. The boy jumped at her touch and she saw Angel’s eyes narrow. He was wondering, no doubt, why the sight of this man was causing such a reaction in the young man. 

“Oh Will,” Xander breathed with a mixture of relief and anxiety. “G-Good, you’re here.” 

“What happened?” the witch asked softly. 

“We had been patrolling,” Giles spoke up as he kneeled to get a closer look at the disfigured face he had been hovering over, “when Buffy thought she had heard voices coming from that tomb,” he said, gesturing absently to a mausoleum to her left. 

“Voices?” Willow broke in, biting her lip. Bringers weren’t big talkers really. Buffy always hated that about them really. She enjoyed a bit a verbal sparring during her slaying, but these guys never played along.

“Chanting,” clarified the Slayer, arms crossed over her chest. Willow nodded gravely. That she could believe, but it did not bode well for them.

“We went inside,” the Watcher continued, picking up immediately where he left off, not missing a beat. “But there was no one there. We could all hear the voices now, but could not find any doors that would lead to another room. But then Angel,” he said, glancing up at the pensive vampire across from him, “found what you might call a trap door behind one of the standing tombs. Buffy opened the door and went down below the crypt, Angel behind her, Xander behind him and so on. But the chanting had stopped.”

“May I?” Willow asked tentatively as she looked to the mausoleum. Giles nodded and she cautiously stepped inside, the foursome behind her.

“There was no one down there when we finally stepped onto the ground,” the Watcher told her, watching as the redhead took stock of their surroundings. She moved to where the trap door was, now laid shut. She nearly reached out to open it again, but paused and retracted her hand at almost lightening speed. Still, she said nothing, so he continued. “We took a look around. There looked to be markings on the ground, but we had poor light and I could not tell what symbols they were. I believe we shall come back during the day, with a flashlight as well, and make some sketches, see if they are in any of my books…”

“What happened then?” she prompted, wanting to get back on track, stepping swiftly away from the door and back to the center of the crypt.

“We went back up to ground level,” he said, removing his glasses and polishing them furiously, an old habit of his that usually calmed his frantic nerves. “When we left here and stepped back outside we were surrounded.”

“How many?” the witch asked; voice hoarse.

“Maybe ten?” he estimated. “They all looked the same, exactly like that fellow outside. Black robes, bald, n-no eyes,” he stammered, the disturbing image of that face clearly burned into his mind. “They all had no eyes, yet they could see, they knew where we were, fought expertly. A-Angel managed to kill the one you see outside, but the rest escaped. Gone in the bloody blink of an eye,” he muttered discontentedly. 

“Do you know what they are, who they are?” Angel asked quietly, his tone neither harsh nor friendly. She sighed and nodded. No point in lying to them about that. This was why they had called her after all; she had more intimate knowledge of monsters and all things demonic than even the Watcher, just none of them, save Xander, knew how. 

“They are called Bringers,” she replied gravely. She needed fresh air, already too tired of being stuck in the tiny space of the crypt. She moved outside, the rest of them following her as she knew they would. Xander remained unnervingly quiet all this time, eyes darting to the form of the fallen Bringer and then to his feet, unable to look at him any longer. It wasn’t the dead body that disturbed him, he had seen too many of those in his short lifetime to bother him anymore. But Bringers were bad news, they had barely escaped the First what was only months before to them, he didn’t know if he could do it again if it truly turned out that the First was making a comeback.

“Bringers,” muttered Giles, eyes squinted as he fought to remember where he had heard that name before. 

“They are pretty dangerous,” she informed them with a dark frown. “I don’t know much about them really but, as bad as they are, they’re only lackeys.”

“That implies they have a boss,” Angel started when she hesitated. The redhead looked him in the eye for the first time that night and the dark vampire frowned at the blatant fear, worry, and exhaustion that shined in her green eyes. 

“Yes,” she admitted. “But I’m not sure who it is.” Willow lowered her eyes, glancing back to Xander. It wasn’t exactly a lie. She didn’t know for a fact that they were working with the First, but it was pretty much a given. Still, she wasn’t ready to admit that just yet.

Silence reigned for a long moment, no one sure what to say. Buffy hadn’t thought too much of what happened initially. This wasn’t exactly out of the ordinary for her. Giles had been a bit worried, but then again he was always a little jumpy. But it was Angel and Xander’s reactions that had caused the Slayer to worry. Angel was tense and she knew he could tell something was off. He didn’t know what it was about these guys that bothered him so much, but it was a feeling he couldn’t ignore.

And Xander had paled significantly at the sight of the men that had surrounded them. And not the usual ‘oh I’m gonna die’ sort of paleness. Something about those guys had him frightened to the bone and Buffy wasn’t about to shrug off his worry. She hadn’t been too surprised when the younger brunette called Willow. Her redheaded friend was like a walking demonic encyclopedia. And come Willow had, in record time as well, and with her she brought bad news. Buffy nearly groaned. She hated when the bad guys were organized. It made her appreciate the fledgling vampires that she killed on a nightly basis. At least they had no plans for world domination, just a quick feed. She loathed elaborate plans because they came attached to smart enemies. And call her what you will, but Buffy liked her bad guys as stupid as they come. It made her job easier.

Eager to go home, knowing there was nothing more that could be done tonight about the newest baddies in town, Buffy finally broke the silence. “What do we do with him?” she asked, gesturing to the dead man on the lawn.

“Don’t you think we have more important things to be worrying about, Buffy?” stammered Giles with a shake of his head. “It is imperative we find out who is behind their appearance in Sunnydale.”

“And we will,” she shrugged tiredly. “It’s what we do. But not tonight, you know we won’t get anything done tonight. I still have another three cemeteries to patrol before I can call it a night and you know if I try to research now I’ll just fall asleep. So, we research tomorrow. But right now I think it’s imperative that we dispose of the dead guy before someone finds him. We can’t exactly leave him where he is, can we?” she countered hurriedly.

“I’ll get rid of him,” Angel said gruffly.

“You do that,” Giles agreed with a stiff nod. “You should finish patrol Buffy,” he advised the blonde. He turned to the redhead and her silent best friend, but Willow cut him off before he could speak.

“We’ll be fine,” she assured him with a tight smile. “We’ll just head home. You guys go on ahead.” The Watcher nodded his assent and walked with Buffy to the entrance of the cemetery where he bade farewell to his charge and they left in opposite directions. 

Angel said nothing to the twosome, instead just roughly grabbing the body on the ground and hoisting him indelicately over his shoulder. Without offering them a goodbye, he started for the exit, eventually fading into the darkness. 

“You okay?” Willow asked softly, frowning as she turned back to Xander. The boy sighed and looked down at his best friend.

“This is bad, isn’t it Wills?” he murmured resignedly. She couldn’t bring herself to say anything, so she just settled for a nod of her head. 

“Listen,” she said quietly, stepping in closer to him so as not to be overheard. Call it paranoia, but she was being cautious. “When I was inside there,” she whispered, looking back toward the crypt, “I felt something, like a wave of bad mojo. I–”

“Oh don’t tell me you’re going down there!” he exclaimed quietly. She glared at him and he practically deflated under her gaze. “You weren’t there Wills,” he tried to explain. “We’re not just talking one or two scary guys; we’re talking a butt load of them!”

“I’m going down there Xander,” she said firmly, daring him to argue with her any further. He chanced a glance behind him toward the mausoleum and sighed gravely.

“Fine,” he mumbled. He wasn’t happy about this. In fact he had the distinct feeling that she would be walking into a trap. But his Wills was stubborn to a fault and there would be no changing her mind. On the other hand, he wasn’t about to let her go it alone. She had done that enough since their arrival in Sunnydale.

He gave her a hard stare and squared his shoulders. “But I’m going with you.” 

 

Chapter Twenty-Eight:

 

“Are you sure you want to do this?” Xander asked, hoping Willow would have changed her mind. This just felt wrong. Like this deep, gnawing feeling in the pit of his stomach, the worry wouldn’t leave the boy and he hoped no matter how futile it was she would not press this.

Willow didn’t respond, instead she walked around him, heading straight for the decrepit mausoleum without looking back to see if he had followed. But follow her he did, unwilling to leave her on her own, no matter how foolish he thought this was. You would think, after all those years they had spent as Scoobies, they would learn not to go looking for trouble. But Willow had always been too inquisitive for her own good and Xander knew once she had made up her mind, there would be no changing it. 

With a heavy sigh Xander dragged his feet, slowly following her lead into the cold and dank crypt, past the dead and dying grass that surrounded it. Only moonlight lit the small, stone room, leaving it draped in an eerie darkness. It didn’t seem to faze the redhead and truthfully it didn’t bother the brunette, but he had already been in here once tonight and he had no desire to go back. 

The witch knelt down quietly by the trap door, Xander hovering over her shoulder. “Do you want me to go in first?” he offered. He had already been underground once before that night and knew the layout of the cavern.

“No offense Xan,” she replied softly, “but if there is something down there, I think we’re going to need someone with power in the lead. I know you’ve got your stake, but they don’t work very well against Bringers. But I have my magic, at least I can protect us, get us out safely if need be.” 

“Okay,” he acquiesced. “Just be careful, I’ll be right behind you.” She smiled up at him, her eyes a little glassy. They had a moment, just staring into each other’s eyes, preparing to step into the unknown together. Willow stood suddenly and wrapped her arms around him, pulling him into a tight hug. Xander seemed a bit surprised but returned it wholeheartedly.

“I love you Xan,” she whispered. She had missed this. Not the danger or even the adrenaline rush that came with it. No, she missed this. Just her and Xander, a team, it had been so long. And it was the first time in months that she didn’t feel utterly alone.

“Love you too, you know that,” he murmured, resting his cheek on the top of her head. She took a deep breathing, taking in the scent of him, something so purely Xander and it made her feel safe again.

Smiling up at him, she squared her shoulders and centered herself, readying herself for any dangers that possibly awaited them underground. She bent at the waist, grabbing firmly onto the latch to the trap door. She silently debated whether to just fling the thing open and try to surprise anyone who might be down there. But soon enough she decided to take the slow approach. 

She pulled the latch gently, the door sticking a little before finally giving way. It opened without a sound, which she was grateful for. She opened it all the way, letting the door rest against the stone of the standing tomb before looking down into the darkened cavern. She took a moment to let her eyes adjust as best they could before taking the first step down.

The stairs were covered with dirt and she flinched when her tennis shoes made a crunching sound on the ground. She paused after the second step; waiting for any sign that there was someone there preparing to kill her. She heard nothing. She started down once more, hearing a second set of footsteps and knowing that Xander was right behind her. 

With ten more steps she was enclosed completely in the pitch blackness of the cavern, unable to see her own hand in front of her face. Xander took two more steps before he too was on the floor, accidentally bumping into the redhead, causing her to jump out of nervousness. They both stood there at the bottom of the stairs, unmoving, for what felt like forever, but was in reality only twenty seconds. 

They were enclosed in an inky blackness; the only light that filtered into the room was from above, where the trap door lay ajar. Even with that they could see nothing. Staying close to the foot of the stairs, their breathing was the only sound to be heard, the quiet exhalations sounding harsh and loud in the eerie silence. 

The twosome screamed in surprise and fright when they heard a resounding boom. The only light that had illuminated the stairway had vanished, the stone lid of the trap door slammed shut so violently that the sound of it still echoed around the cavern. They looked around, now truly unable to see a thing. Willow could feel her heart in throat and she swallowed convulsively. Xander, who was still pressed up against her, found her hand in the darkness and squeezed it tightly, trying to be reassuring. It was a nice thought, but he was failing miserably. 

A sudden whoosh sounded about the room and they had to blink to protect their eyes from the flame that now flickered to life. Torch after torch lit and burned, the fire sounding like a dull roar as the cavern was slowly growing brighter and brighter. Willow looked around anxiously, trying to take in her surroundings. 

Everything was a dusty brown. The walls and floor were all made of dirt and she realized that someone must have simply dug a massive whole in the ground below the crypt above. It wasn’t a small room, but cave-like in nature. It was long but not narrow, almost circular. The walls were ragged and there were the occasional tree root that peeked through. Along the walls, there were torches lined up, nearly fifteen in total. While that night had been cool, the heat would become nearly stifling if the fires kept going like they were. She spun on her heel slowly, seeing the markings that Giles had been talking about.

On the ground, in a bright red which she knew wasn’t paint, was a symbol she wasn’t sure she recognized. It was a massive circle and within it was a pentagram. There were pictures inside it that she couldn’t describe, they just looked like messy, squiggly lines to her, but they obviously had some significance. The stench of the room of almost unbearable though. It was filled with the smell of death and blood and she had to fight to urge to gag. 

“Will,” Xander hissed, eyes darting frantically about the room, “I don’t like this.”

“I’m not loving this either, Xan,” she bit out without sparing him a glance. 

“What is all this?” he wondered hesitantly, stepping away from the redhead and toward the markings on the floor.

“I don’t know,” Willow admitted grimly.

“You don’t know?” he barked incredulously. “You’re the one with all the magic here, Wills. How can you *not* know what this is?”

“I don’t know every spell ever written, Xander,” she shouted back, glaring at him over her shoulder. Her anger soon faded as her voice echoed off the barren walls. There went their hope for any sort of surprise attack. Not that there seemed to be anyone to attack. The cavern looked curiously deserted. 

They stood stone still, startled by the light breeze that suddenly brushed past them, the air ruffling their hair and clothing just slightly. They still didn’t move, but their eyes surveyed the room anxiously.

“There’s a draft,” Xander mumbled with a squeak. “How can there be a draft? We’re underground.”

“I–I don’t know,” Willow croaked, her throat closing up on her. 

“There’s not much you *do* know,” chuckled a dark, distinctly male voice, coming from nowhere and everywhere at the same time. “Is there?” 

Xander stood straighter, searching the darkness for any sign of another person. But there was nothing to be seen. He looked anxiously from side to side and could see no one. “Come out!” he demanded, surprised by the ferocity in his own voice. It didn’t betray the fear that was working its way through his system. “Who’s there? Come on out and face us!”

A breathy, girlish giggle bounced off the walls, sending a chill up the redhead’s spine. “Don’t wanna…” was the only reply, teasing and playful. Xander glanced nervously to Willow. How many people were down there? First a man, now a woman. It was all too disorienting.

“Come out here,” ordered Willow, as firmly as she could, her eyes darkening and her voice deepening as her power began to fill her, “or I will make you come out. And trust me, you don’t want that.” 

“Ah Wills,” groaned an easily recognizable voice, causing both Xander and Willow’s jaws to drop. “You’re no fun anymore.”

No footsteps could be heard, but a black boot stepped out into the light. Slowly a form could be seen as another foot moved into the light. Red leather pants could be seen; then a clingy black tank, hugging every curve as it should. Lightly tanned skin shimmered in the firelight, accented by long blonde hair, curling slightly at the end to look both dangerous and demure. A bright, big smile caught Willow’s eye, one so familiar and yet not, something innately evil about that smile.

“But, to be honest there good buddy,” sighed the blonde, arms crossed over her chest casually as she stood, feet shoulder’s width apart nearly fifteen feet away from them, “you haven’t been much fun for a long time.” Willow’s heart hammered in her chest at the sight. She prayed that her eyes were deceiving her, but by the astounded and frightened look on Xander’s face, she knew that wasn’t the case. 

“The First…” Willow murmured, not a question, just a simple acknowledgment. Buffy bowed her head and smiled gleefully.

The Slayer looked them over with a critical eye, smiling the entire time. “You’ve been a bit of a downer for as long as I remember, really. I mean, first you were moping about Oz. That got old fast,” smirked Buffy. She moved slowly then, in a small circle around the pair, with a languid grace that not even the Slayer truly possessed, Willow and Xander following her form warily with their eyes. “And then you got hooked on black magic. Now that was interesting, but then you had to go and get caught by your friends. How disappointing. And you spent all that time, curled up on the bathroom floor, shaking with with-drawl, such a waste of time and talent.”

“Leave her alone,” interrupted Xander hoarsely. 

“Now was I talking to you?” snapped Buffy, her pacing coming to a halt as she glowered at the brunette. When he failed to respond she smiled, “I didn’t think so.” With a satisfied nod, she resumed her movement. “So where were we? Oh yes! My favorite part! Your girlfriend, stuttering mess that she was, went and got herself shot. What a tragedy that was,” she mock sighed. “And you just lost it! It was brilliant to watch!” 

Willow shuffled nervously, finally breaking eye contact with the Slayer, too ashamed. Buffy smiled indulgently at the witch.

“You were the personification of black magic, the hair, the eyes,” she recalled with a wicked gleam in her eyes. “I have to say, it was a good look on you. But the veins were a little much, wouldn’t you agree?” She stopped an arm’s length away from the redhead, grinning in delight. “You killed that pathetic little pipsqueak, Warren. One of your finest moments if you ask me. Then took out the warlock. I think Rack was glad you were the one that was going to have the honor of killing him off. You really were his favorite, just a chip off the old block. You were doing so well too! I’ve never been more proud! You even sucked the magic right out of the watcher, nearly killed the man you thought of as a father! Bravo!” 

The witch was shaking now and didn’t bother to hide it. As much as she didn’t want to listen, she couldn’t force herself to tune it all out. There were no lies being spoken, and that was what hurt the most. 

“And then,” Buffy exclaimed, clapping her hands together excitedly, “You went for the big finale! There you were, dark and deadly, ready to end it all. To bring on the apocalypse to end all apocalypses! And you know, all I was thinking was that’s my girl!”

Her bright smile turned into a dark frown as her gaze fell from Willow, landing on Xander. Her eyes were filled with disgust and loathing as she glared at the boy.

“But you screwed it all up,” she growled, glowering at Xander. “Everything was going along beautifully, and then you had to show up and profess your undying love for your bestest buddy. You just *had* to make her see that she wasn’t alone, to make her see reason,” she spat out. “I never did like you. Too useless in my opinion, never had any potential. But I might have been wrong about you, Xand. I mean,” she said sweetly, her voice innocent, “if it wasn’t for you, I wouldn’t be here. I wouldn’t have a second chance.” 

“We killed you,” Xander swore, taking an involuntary step back, moving closer to Willow. “We destroyed you.”

“You cannot destroy me,” growled Buffy, her expression turning menacing. “I am and have always been. I cannot be killed because I cannot become corporeal. You weakened me boy, but you did not finish me!”

Willow glared angrily at the one who had taken the shape of one of her best friends and the First granted her a curious raised brow. Willow continued to glare and Buffy looked puzzled for a minute before looking down at herself and grinning madly.

“This bothers you doesn’t it?” she smirked, running her hands across her midriff. “Seeing me like this? Like her?” When neither answered her, she merely smiled and stepped back, standing straight. “I could change if you like,” she offered pleasantly. “I mean, I do owe you for bringing me back. It’s the least I could do.” She cocked her head to the side in contemplation, thinking for a moment. “How about Tara, hmmm? I know, technically she’s not dead here, but she did die once before, in the real world. That counts after all.”

“Do it and I’ll kill you,” the witch warned furiously. 

“You could try,” she smirked, shaking her head. “But you’re right. That was in poor taste. There’s always Anya, maybe Xan here would like another glimpse at the woman he loved?” Glancing at the boy, who nearly had tears in his eyes, Buffy smiled widely. She held up a hand to stave off the angry words Willow was about the throw at her, “I know, I know. I being mean, but hello? I *am* the First Evil,” she reminded them with a roll of her eyes.

“There’s always Spike,” she considered, a devious glint in her eye. “He was fun to play with last time around. So easy to mess with his head. But then again, he did have a soul at the time,” she murmured with a slight frown. “But you wouldn’t like that either,” Buffy grinned mischievously as she looked to the glowering redhead. “No, you wouldn’t like that at all, would ya Wills?” Her voice was taunting. “Seems you’ve got a soft spot for our vamp, even though he has no soul to speak of. Curious…”

Buffy’s face lit up in triumph, “I know! How about a compromise?” Without another word, the body began to shift, limbs growing longer, taller, the hair darkening to a chocolate brown and shorter than before. The red leather pants gave way to black slacks, the black tank molding into a long sleeved, button down crimson shirt. Willow’s face hardened, not thrilled at all with the First’s choice in compromises. “What? You don’t approve?” 

The Slayer’s perky, light voice had now lowered, more masculine, nearly a purr. “No,” ground out Willow, “I don’t approve.”

“Oh come on,” the First sighed, “it’s just Angel. It’s not like either one of you has any mushy feelings for the broody bastard. And I can assure you he doesn’t give a damn about you. So you see, compromise,” he said with finality. 

“Why are you here?” Xander asked listlessly.

“I’m here because you brought me here,” Angel grinned. “I still remember when your lot was down below the hell mouth, fighting my army and losing,” he said, smiling at the memory before his expression turned dark. “And then Spike, the traitorous lout, put on that amulet and destroyed everything. He didn’t kill me, no one can, but all the power I had gained was gone. There was no way to retrieve it, to get it all back. It would have taken me centuries to build up another army like that, to get another chance to bring on the end of days.”

“And that would have been horrible,” snorted Xander.

“I agree,” Angel hissed with a hard stare. “But then you, boy, became a weeping, whiny mess. ‘I can’t go on, not without her!’ Blah, blah, blah. And you begged poor Will here to do a spell for you. And she caved, like she always does,” he added with a disgusted look to the redhead. “Trouble was you didn’t think your plan through. Your nifty little spell opened a door for me, restored me. You gave me the second chance I never thought I’d have. Gotta thank you for that, Xander.”

“And Willow,” he exclaimed with a wide smile, “I have you to thank for all the neat changes to the world! You both have made things so much easier for me this time around. Your little Scooby gang is no longer the tight knit group you once were. The Slayer and her pet vampire aren’t sharing ‘smoochies’, as you put it,” he spat. “It’s all so fascinating really,” he murmured, “makes me wish I were the one responsible for it all. Definitely a job well done.”

“Wait,” Willow interrupted him abruptly. “You *wish* you were responsible? But I thought–”

“I *told* you,” Angel sighed, aggravated. “You two opened a door for me. Do pay attention sweetheart,” he demanded. “But all these changes aren’t my doing. I wasn’t nearly powerful enough then, but if it was my work, I’d be damn proud. Everything is the same and yet so vastly different…”

“The Powers did this?” she wondered, her voice barely above a whisper. It was filled with heartbreak at the thought the Powers were really responsible for the mess her life had become. Maybe this really was punishment for a spell she never should have cast. 

Xander, hearing the utter sorrow in her voice, tightly grasped her hand once more in a show of support. Angel grimaced at the sickly sweet display. 

“Yeah, yeah, the Powers did this,” he snorted. “They are a vengeful lot, in case you missed it. I have a feeling you two are on their shit list.” 

“Fuck you,” growled Willow, eyes no longer green, but a fathomless black. Her voice was deeper, harder, and the roots of her hair were melting into black. 

“Now that’s the Willow I’ve missed,” Angel grinned broadly. 

“Wills,” Xander hissed, tugging sharply on her arm. Reluctantly her eyes left Angel, head whirling around to look at Xander. “Control yourself.”

“Bah, control is overrated,” dismissed Angel with a wave of his hand.

“Oh shut it!” shouted Xander, glaring daggers at Angel’s form. 

“Watch your mouth boy,” Angel growled, eyes narrowing in warning. “I will not tolerate the likes you speaking to me like that.”

“Oh, you’ll tolerate it, alright,” Xander countered, pulling Willow with him closer toward Angel who was standing threateningly at the foot of the stairs. “You’ll tolerate it because you have no other choice. In case you forgot, you’re just some ghosty, non-corporeal waste of space. You can’t touch me, can’t hurt me. The best you could do is sending some of your minions after me, and if memory serves me, you did that once already tonight and I’m still breathing.”

Xander got closer, got into his face without touching him, as if he could. “We beat you before, sent you running back to hell with your tail between your legs, and we’ll do it again. Let’s go Wills.”

The redhead didn’t move and Xander chanced a glance over his shoulder to the witch. Even though he couldn’t physically feel her power, he could see little sparks of magic crackling around her head. She was angry and scared and that was a deadly combination. 

With one final glare at Angel, he gripped Willow’s hand even tighter and pulled her forcefully up the stairs, walking straight through a seething Angel on the way up, suppressing the shiver it caused. He wanted to get Willow out of there before she finally lost it. Her control was tenuous at best and he was afraid of what she might do if she had to deal with anymore stress. The results could only be horrible.

And more than anything, Xander really didn’t want veiny Willow to make an appearance ever again. 

 

Chapter Twenty-Nine:

 

Xander was getting worried about Willow. Well, he was more than worried, but he couldn’t think of a better word to describe what he was feeling, so worried it was. Ever since their confrontation with the First, the redhead had been too quiet. We’re not talking about the occasional monosyllabic word every now and then. We’re talking complete and utter silence. She hadn’t muttered one damn word since they had climbed out of that cavern and it was scaring him.

They had walked back home, without saying a word to each other. The enormity of the situation seemed to close in on them, making it hard to think. Xander kept her hand in his own, walking maybe a step ahead of her, leading the way. Willow was in no shape to take charge. He idly considered that this was the first time since they had arrived back in the old Sunnydale that Willow was allowing herself to depend on someone. For as long as he remembered, she had been the one in charge, the one who took care of him. And now it was his turn to take care of her. He had to. He couldn’t make it in this world without her. 

The witch trudged into her house, immediately letting go of Xander’s hand and brushing past the concerned brunette to the stairs. Xander paused at the foot of the stairs, debating silently whether or not to follow her. After a moment he decided it would be best to give her some time to herself. He would go make himself something to eat and when he was finished he would go up and check on her. Shuffling off to the kitchen, he left Willow to her thoughts.

Willow climbed the stairs, face drawn and pale. She entered her bedroom, absently throwing her house keys onto her desk with a clatter before moving to her balcony. She refrained from going outside, instead deciding just to stand at her glass doors, looking out into the deceptively peaceful night. Her gaze drifted upward, taking in the twinkling lights in the sky, not able to appreciate their beauty. On this night, the stars looked ordinary, plain and boring. 

She wrapped her arms around her midsection, hugging herself. Her mind was racing even though her expression did not convey her warring emotions. What if he wasn’t lying? That thought terrified her more than anything. What if the First had been telling the truth? What if the Powers really had done this all? That didn’t make things better in her mind; it only caused her to despair even more. 

Xander didn’t understand, couldn’t understand her distress at the thought. But it was simple. If the First was truly responsible for everything that had gone wrong, then there was hope. Hope that the Powers would intervene; hope that things could change once more, this time for the better. 

But if the First was merely along for the ride, if the Powers were the ones who decided to rewrite history, then what? Who did they have to turn to for help? No one, that’s who, they would be on their own in this twisted, messed up world. An unbidden shiver worked its way up her spine and Willow shivered, feeling cold. When she was younger, what always kept her going, against even the most impossible odds, was her hope. They always had a chance at survival, at winning the battle, if they just had hope. What was she to rely on if her hope had vanished?

Minutes passed and she still remained at her post by her French doors, staring blankly outside. She heard Xander coming up the stairs, his lumbering footsteps loud in the otherwise silent house. Still she didn’t move.

Xander appeared in her doorway, frowning as he spied her looking off into space. He was tempted to cross her bedroom, to wrap his arms around her, to tell her everything would be alright. But he wasn’t sure if everything would be alright, and he couldn’t bear to lie to Willow. So he stayed in the doorway, leaning against the frame.

“Are you okay?” He nearly flinched at his own words. They sounded foolish to his ears but he couldn’t take them back now.

Willow stilled, her back tense, before she glanced over her shoulder, holding his gaze for a long moment. “No.”

Her answer was simple, to the point, and he knew, completely true. He wasn’t okay, so how could she be okay? But at this point he was just searching for a way to get her to talk to him, to tell him exactly what was running through her mind now. “We’ll get through this, you know. We always do,” he tried to be reassuring, to show confidence he wasn’t feeling. “We do this everyday practically, Wills. We go to battle, fight the forces of evil, and live to fight another day…”

“Anya didn’t.” He didn’t know he was capable of so many feelings at one time, but she proved him wrong with her last statement, uttered barely more than a whisper. His earlier fear, anxiety, and concern were pushed aside by the violent wave of pain at the mention of her name, nearly causing him to topple over.

Willow turned slowly on her heel; the look in her eyes frightened him. Her eyes weren’t black, she wasn’t pulsing with magic, but that sparkle of life that had always been there, that inexplicable optimism that lit up her face was gone. She didn’t appear angry, or even resigned. She seemed stripped of all emotion, a shell.

“Wills…” he muttered sorrowfully, not even sure how to continue; she didn’t give him the chance. 

“We don’t always live to fight another day,” the witch said tonelessly, now turned toward him. “You say we’ll get through this, but you don’t know. How could you possibly know? Tara didn’t know she was going to die. Anya didn’t know a bringer was going to slice her in two. We could be killed tomorrow and never see it coming. One day we’re living and breathing, then the next…” she trailed off, knowing she had made her point.

“Hold on to your naïve belief that somehow we will be saved,” she spat, with uncharacteristic venom in her voice. “Keep clinging to your hope that we’ll make it through. But I choose to live in reality. And the reality is, we’re up against the most powerful evil in the world and the Powers, the good guys,” she snorted with a sad shake of her head, “they’re not on our side.”

“You don’t know that,” he denied, taking a step closer to the girl whose body seemed to practically emit pain and sorrow. 

The redhead looked him dead in the eye, her gaze both challenging and pleading. “Prove me wrong.”

He wished he knew what to say to get through to her, but words escaped him. She had a point, a very good one, and he was at a loss for what to say. Willow merely looked on sadly, bowing her head with a faint smile at his failure to reply. Nodding to herself, she grabbed her house keys off her desk and headed for the door, but Xander’s hand on her arm stopped her.

“Where are you going?” he asked softly, looking down at her with worried eyes. She gently pried his hand off her arm and stared at him, assessing him, before shrugging and giving him a strained smile.

“I need air.” He took a step back, wordlessly acknowledging that he couldn’t keep her there, as much as he might want to, and let her walk away from him. He watched as she listlessly descended the staircase, not even bothering to grab a jacket to stave off the chill of night before she was out the front door and gone from his view. 

Xander moved to her bed, sitting on the edge with his elbows resting on his knees, head in hands. Things were spiraling out of control and he didn’t know what to do. He was never the brains of the operation; he was never the go-to guy. He had no idea how to handle situations like this. He wasn’t a Champion.

His head shot up, an idea that both pleased and disappointed him, coming to him suddenly. They needed help, and unfortunately, he knew exactly who to turn to.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow had been wandering for awhile. Normally taking a nighttime stroll in the hell mouth would get you killed, but the demonic population of Sunnydale was avoiding her tonight. They could tell she was volatile and dangerous and if they picked a fight with her, they probably wouldn’t survive it. Not many, people or demons, have the balls to mess with a pissed off witch.

She didn’t even question her judgment when she found herself outside Willy’s. Not missing a beat, she pushed open the door to the dingy bar, her lithe form illuminated in the doorway by the low light coming from inside.

Talking ceased for a moment as everyone, from vampires, to some horned demon she had never even seen before in her life, all turned to stare at the sight of some mortal girl in this place. The novelty wore off soon enough when she ignored their stares and headed straight for the bar. 

Willy was nervously polishing glasses when she stalked toward him, taking a seat on one of the vacant stools and looking up at the shifty bartender with a bored expression.

“What can I do for ya, doll-face? Slayer looking for information, couldn’t come herself?” Willy asked anxiously, nearly shouting ‘slayer’ so that his patrons knew to be on their best behavior. He couldn’t have his clientele be killed off. Then where would he get his money? 

“I need a drink,” she said, cocking her head to the side when he didn’t move a muscle. “Something with alcohol–lots of alcohol…” she muttered. The longer she sat there, the better a drink sounded. Something to get her mind off her troubles.

“Sorry sweetheart,” Willy chuckled, an unpleasant nasally sound. “I think you’re too young for that. Wouldn’t be legal and all.”

Willow, too tired and aggravated to give a damn, let her eyes turn to an inky black, glaring at the now uncomfortable bartender. “Now, Willy.”

“Right,” he stammered, eager to do as she said, “anything you say, darlin’. Anything specific?” She gave him an incredulous glance and he laughed nervously. “Okay, bartender’s choice…” He bent over, looking through all the bottles he was storing under the bar in a rush.

“Now that’s not nice,” sneered a cocky voice from behind her. Willow’s shoulders tensed but she refrained from turning around, hoping if she ignored him he would just go away. “Threatening the poor bloke, you’ll give the nit a bloody heart attack and then where would all us demons go for a drink?”

She tapped her fingers on the wood of the bar, waiting for Willy to finish up down there. He was taking forever. She heard a rustle of clothing as Spike moved to sit in the empty seat beside her, obviously a little annoyed as she continued to ignore him.

“What crawled up your arse tonight?” he snarled, the growl in his normally calm and cool voice causing her to look at him. He was pissed, and seemed to be favoring his back, probably from when she threw him into the tree earlier that night. “We were having a nice little chat, and then you’re bloody well magically heaving me across the sodding yard!” Spike barked, doing his best to keep his voice hushed so as not to attract unwanted attention. “Now you come waltzing into a demon bar and making demands. Are we Little-Miss-Mood-swings tonight?”

With a huff, Willow pushed her stool away from the bar, already tired of his ‘company’. “Not now, Spike,” she bit out as she stood, pushing past the mildly surprised vampire and toward the exit. She didn’t feel like waiting for Willy to get his act together and do his job anymore. 

She was out the door in the blink of an eye, back in the alleyway in front of Willy’s. She turned to her left, heading out the back way, into the more shadowed area. That direction may have seemed a little creepy, but at least she avoided the occasional demon coming down the other direction in search of the bar.

Someone was running to catch up with her and she rolled her eyes. He never knew when to just leave someone be. Instead he had to prod and pry and she had to resist the urge just to stake him and be done with it. 

Spinning around on her heel, she caught sight of an angry Spike heading straight for her. She wasn’t bothered by his threatening demeanor, instead she simply waited for him, daintily crossing her arms over her chest and tilting her head to the side. 

“You have a lot of bloody nerve!” he barked, hands clenched at his side as he met up with her. She met his hard gaze serenely and he couldn’t hold back his growl. “You’re a right stubborn bitch sometimes, you know that?!”

“I’ve been told,” she replied calmly, staring at him blankly.

“What the hell is wrong with you, you daft bint?” he demanded, shaking his head. “What happened? One minute we were having what people might actually consider a civil conversation, and then you’re throwing blokes across yards and storming off like a bleeding loony! And what is with the attitude, love? ‘Cause I’ve got to tell you, it’s not very attractive.” 

“It’s none of your business, Spike,” Willow said firmly, her jaw clenched. His very presence irritated her. She just wanted to be alone, left to wallow in her misery on her own. Now he wouldn’t stop badgering her. “Go home.”

With that, she turned her back on him and started to walk off once more. She was taken by surprise when he grabbed her harshly by the elbow and slammed her back against the brick wall, sending a wave of pain through her body. Willow closed her eyes for a second; trying to will away the sudden jolt of pain and fear. There were times when she forgot that this Spike didn’t have a chip and wasn’t afraid to hurt her. 

His hands now had a firm purchase on her shoulders, holding her steady as he glared down at her, game face in place, teeth bared. “Watch your mouth, pet. Don’t even think about giving me orders. I’m not your bloody lapdog, Xapper,” he growled in warning. 

“Shut up!” she snapped and he smirked. Rarely did she lose her cool like this, it was fun to watch. Her cheeks were flushed, lips parted, eyes blazing. She was truly beautiful in anger. 

“What was that, pet?” he mocked her, leaning in a bit closer and hearing her heartbeat speed up slightly as his teeth got closer and closer to her neck. She glared up at him and tried to kick him in the shin, but her movement was hampered by his hold on her. He growled in anger and pressed her harder up against the wall so that they were now eye to eye. Amber met green and he found himself a bit entranced by the emotion in her gaze. There was anger, fear, fury, panic, and emptiness. He recognized that feeling, it was what he felt since he came to this town, what he felt since he met her. He wondered what put it there. He wondered what could make it go away.

“I will burn you to a crisp if you don’t let me go, you stupid, blood-sucking, arrogant, moron–” her voice, now high-pitched both from anger and alarm, was cut off suddenly by his demanding lips. He gave her no choice but to respond to his harsh kiss and soon she was lost in the sensation of his cool mouth and body as he pressed against her. He wasn’t sure why he was doing this. There was no doubt that she was gorgeous, but tonight was the first time she looked vulnerable, and it called to him. They were so different, and yet they shared the same pain, the same fears. And Spike simply acted on his impulse. 

She was brought back to startling reality when she felt a sudden flash of pain. She pushed him away from her as hard as she could and Spike stumbled, obviously a bit taken aback by his own actions. 

Her fingers went to her still tingling lips and came away with a streak of blood. Her lip was cut, bleeding, and she took an involuntary step back. She looked up to Spike, seeing a smudge of red at the corner of his mouth, blood. Her blood. Seeing where her gaze had landed, he wiped his mouth with his thumb, surprised to see the smear of blood. He took a step back, remembering he was still wearing his game face.

Spike shook his head, his demonic features sliding away, leaving him in his handsome human façade. They stared at each other for a long minute, both unsure what to do or say next. A loud bang was heard as the door to Willy’s was thrown open, two vampires tumbling out into the street, fighting each other drunkenly, their shouts and snarls breaking the two out of their trance. 

They didn’t wait a beat, each turning in the opposite direction and walking away as quickly as they possibly could, unable and unwilling to comprehend what the hell just happened. 

Willow decided it was best just to go straight home, no detours or patrols on her way. She just wanted to be in the safety of her house. Her day had been long, arduous, and too strange for words. She just couldn’t take anymore surprises today.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Xander raised his hand to knock, hesitating just before he rapped on the wooden door, and then finally just dropping his hand entirely. He didn’t want to be here, didn’t want to ask him for help, but he had no other ideas. They needed help and he was the only one he could think to turn to. 

With a heavy sigh, he resolved to finally get it over with and just knock. He raised his hand again but didn’t even get the chance to knock as the door was thrown open. 

“What do you want?” snarled Angel. He hated having visitors, and he really hated this visitor in particular.

“Can I come in?” Xander asked, as politely as he could muster, causing Angel to raise a reluctantly curious eyebrow. “Please…we need to talk.” 

At the obvious pleading in his voice, Angel found himself grudgingly intrigued. He opened his front door a little wider and stepped aside to let Xander in. Shutting the door behind him, he took a seat directly across from the nervous boy and waited for him to speak. This was sure to be an interesting night…


	9. Chapters 30-33

Chapter Thirty:

 

Angel waited, growing more and more annoyed as Xander just sat there. The boy looked like he was having a rather serious debate with himself, but Angel wasn’t happy to be ignored. After all, Xander had come to him and now he was just sitting there. It just confirmed his theory that Alexander Harris was a big waste of space. 

“Are you planning on talking to me anytime soon, or should I be settling in for a long night?” the vampire sneered. Xander looked up, glaring at Angel contemptuously before shaking his head. He was here to ask for his help, it wouldn’t do to insult the broody idiot. 

“Look,” Xander sighed, leveling Angel with a serious face, “let’s just get this straight. I don’t like you. You don’t like me. I wouldn’t be here if this wasn’t serious. And I’m talking end-of-the-world, we’re-all-going-to-hell-in-a-hand-basket serious. Understand?” 

“Got it,” snapped Angel, sitting back in his armchair, the leather creaking under his weight. “Now start talking before I just get bored and throw you out.”

“You’ve been dying, figuratively,” Xander smirked to himself, “to know what Willow and I have been up to. To know all our deepest, darkest secrets, isn’t that right Deadboy?”

Angel glared at the hated nickname but settled for nodding, “Yeah.”

“Well,” Xander grinned, the expression without humor, “then tonight’s your lucky night. I’m in the mood to share. But I’ve got some ground rules before we get to it.”

“All right,” Angel acknowledged and Xander heard the amusement in his voice. He thought he was amusing. Dumb ass. 

“Willow doesn’t know I’m here,” Xander informed him, causing Angel’s eyes to widen in surprise. The vampire’s expression turned neutral soon enough as he did his best to hide his surprise. Xander did nothing without Willow, so already this had him intrigued. “Actually,” amended the younger brunette with a tired shrug, “I’m pretty sure Wills is having a nervous breakdown right now, so it’s not like I could consult her on this, but that’s not the point. The point is this stays between us unless I say otherwise.”

Angel nodded slowly and signaled for him to continue. “And lastly,” Xander said resignedly, “what I’m about to tell you may sound crazy, truthfully there are some days I can’t wrap my head around it, but it’s the truth. I’m not making with the funny here. You have to take everything I tell you totally seriously, or this will get us nowhere. Do we have an understanding?”

“Yeah,” Angel grunted, “get on with it.” 

“I did something stupid.” Xander stopped his oncoming monologue at Angel’s bark of laughter, shooting the vampire a look of death. Angel tried his best to look mildly apologetic as he schooled his face into a dire expression.

“Like I was saying,” the boy bit out, “I did something stupid a few months ago. Wills, she’s a mighty powerful Wicca, you know. And, we–I was going through a really hard time. I asked her to do a spell for me, to make things better. Big mistake there,” he muttered, disgruntled. 

Xander looked up and the expression on the boy’s face caught Angel off guard. The younger brunette was solemn, grave. Unconsciously the vampire sat up a little straighter, as if finally grasping the seriousness of the situation. The boy gave him a strained smile, one lacking in humor or malice, it was as if he was simply attempting to show some sort of feeling when, at the moment, he was too overwhelmed to feel. “I–we made a mistake,” Xander amended, shaking his head and sighing deeply. “We changed the world…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow looked at herself in the bathroom mirror, studying her features intently. After her episode with Spike outside of Willy’s, she had sped home, no longer in the mood to traipse around the hell mouth all night long. Her earlier pain and confusion had not abated; instead it had only grown as the night went on. Her walk home was a blur, her mind too focused on the First and Spike to concentrate on the scenery. In the back of her mind, she registered surprise when she noticed that Xander was not at home any longer, but she didn’t dwell on it. If Xander was anything like her, he probably needed some fresh air and some time to think too. Besides, Xander could take care of himself. She was more worried about her own well being at the moment.

Her reflection stared back at her listlessly. Her normally vibrant green eyes were glazed, both from exhaustion and an emotion she couldn’t name. It wasn’t fear; she wasn’t scared, not really. She was confused, but it was more than that. Everything, her entire life seemed to be spiraling out of control and she was at a loss on how to stop it. She felt as if she was carrying the weight of the world on her shoulders and soon she would come toppling down from the pressure. She knew Xander was worried about her, that she might just be losing it. And truthfully, she shared his same fears. She was used to being the strong one, the dependable, brainy one. But normally she had Buffy, Giles, and even Angel to count on for support. But this time, she only really had Xander. Buffy would help, she trusted her, considered her a friend, but Giles was still so wary of her, and she wouldn’t hold her breath waiting for Angel to come rushing to her aid. The First was back and she and Xander were at a loss as to how to deal. All she knew was that the First needed to be taken care of, but how she wasn’t sure. 

As if things weren’t complicated enough between fractured relationships with former friends and the return of an old enemy, there was Spike. The redhead took in the flush of her face, the puffiness and slight bruising on her lips, and let out a shaky sigh. 

She turned on the faucet of her bathroom sink, collecting the cool water in the palms of her hands before bending down at the waist slightly and splashing it on her face, the shock of the cold causing an involuntary shiver to work its way down her spine. She blindly reached to her right for a hand towel, blotting her dripping face. She tossed the cloth to the side and stared blankly at her now splotchy face, losing herself in her thoughts.

Spike had been a problem ever since he arrived in the new and not-so-improved Sunnydale. They fought, and yelled, and swore, and hurt each other over and over, mostly with their words. Their fights were borne of confusion and anger, and she could deal with that. She expected anger from Spike. He was a vampire after all. But a kiss? That was something she never saw coming. Call her naïve, or innocent, as untrue as that might be, but she never envisioned their verbal sparring to lead to a slightly violent make-out session in a dark alley. She just wasn’t that kind of girl, at least not under normal circumstances. Unfortunately, normal was not something she had experienced much of since she met Buffy.

There were dark circles under her eyes, a severe contrast to the paleness of her skin. Willow knew she looked terrible. This had to have been one of the longest days of her life and it still wasn’t over yet. Shaking her head absently, the witch stepped away from the sink, turning her back to the mirror that seemed to only reflect her sadness and desperation, and shuffled toward her bedroom. 

The lights in her room were all turned off, the moonlight shining in from her French doors illuminating her bedroom in a misty blue. Her covers were pulled back, still messy from when she woke this morning. She never did get around to making her bed. Lately she hadn’t had the energy or time for such mundane chores. Her desk sat a few feet away, her trusty laptop closed, having not been opened in nearly four days.

With as little noise as possible she searched her dresser drawers for a pair of loose cotton pajama pants and a white tank top, changing silently. Her eyes drifted to the alarm clock at her bedside, the digital clock flashing two in the morning in bright red. The witch blinked, rubbing her tired eyes, her movements sluggish and halfhearted.

After a moment’s hesitation she took a step forward towards her French doors, eyes gazing out into the dark and inky black of the night sky. Her gaze was contemplative as she reached her destination, standing almost against the cool glass, her right hand gripping the heavy, thick curtains that lay to the side. 

It looked peaceful out there, quiet, deceptively calm. The crickets chirped, stars twinkled, a light breeze whistled through the trees. But it wasn’t peaceful; there was nothing calm about the outside world. Night wasn’t safe. Demons wandered the streets, non-corporeal evils lurked in caves and caverns lying in wait, vampires searched for prey. It didn’t matter how beautiful the sky looked, lit up with stars, the moon, full and bright, shining. Outside there lurked evil and there was no escaping it. Most Sunnydale citizens simply chose to remain ignorant, to ignore the threat that waited just out their front doors when the sun went down. 

Her grip tightened on the coarse fabric. With a swift tug, Willow pulled the drapery loose, the curtain swinging a little before coming to settle over the glass and wood of the French doors, bathing the room in black. She would do what everyone else in this miserable town did. She would shut out the night, pretend that there weren’t dangerous things lurking just beyond the flimsy barrier of her door, just for tonight. She just needed one night of peace, one night to forget all the troubles that plagued her. 

Feeling her way around her room, instinctually knowing where most of everything was, she climbed into bed, slipping under the covers, tucking them protectively up to her chin, much as she did when she was a child. Her eyes fluttered shut as she finally let sleep overcome her. Tonight she would sleep, get much needed rest. And then tomorrow she would wake and be the strong one again. She would find a way to fix this mess. She had to.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Angel hadn’t said anything, and it was starting to bug Xander. The younger man had done something he swore he would never do. He came to Angel for help, voluntarily. He had let the vampire in on all the secrets that he and Willow had been hiding, something the redhead might kill him for, and Angel was just sitting there like a damn bump on a log. 

The dark vampire stood suddenly and Xander blushed sheepishly when he jumped, a little startled. Angel started pacing the floor, footsteps heavy on the wood floor. He paused mid-step, glancing to his right at Xander, eyes narrowed. He was studying him, trying to discern whether or not he was indeed telling the truth. His story had been absurd, but not impossible. They lived on the hell mouth after all, nothing was impossible.

“I believe you,” Angel finally admitted gruffly. Xander rolled his eyes and let his head drop, his hand coming up to rub the back of his aching neck.

“Good,” he muttered, annoyed that it had taken Angel that long to spit it out.

“And you’re right, you are stupid,” snapped Angel, turning on his heel to glare at the boy.

“Hey!” Xander glowered, “I said I *did* something stupid, not that I *am* stupid!”

“Whatever,” snorted the vampire, dismissively. “You’re an idiot for wanting to do that spell,” Angel nearly growled. Xander stood angrily, not in the mood to be lectured. He opened his mouth to defend himself, but Angel beat him to the punch. “And Willow is a fool for doing it.”

“Fuck you.” Angel’s eyes widened in mild surprise at Xander’s uncharacteristically harsh language and the boy took a threatening step toward him. “You can say what you want, make your presumptions. I know what we did was stupid and rash. But you weren’t there. You don’t know the hell we went through, all the people we lost. You wanna know where you were when Buffy, the love of your life, was fighting the mother of all evils, hmmm? You were in Los Angeles, in a nice, sun-proof office, relaxing in the lap of luxury.”

Angel’s expression went blank, his brown eyes became hard, and his mouth opened to deny his charge. He would never do that, leave Buffy to fight, to possibly die, without him by her side. Xander didn’t give him the chance to argue his case.

“Some big, strapping hero you were,” he sneered, trying his best to look down on the vampire, which was difficult considering their considerable height difference. “You have no right to judge me, us. You know you would have done the same thing if Buffy had died. If you had the chance to go back, maybe change things for the better, be with the woman you love again, you would do it. You wouldn’t even think twice. So say we did something stupid, say we weren’t in the right state of mind, but don’t call me an idiot. And don’t even think about calling Willow a fool. She did this because she wanted to help me. She did this out of love. And if you were in her shoes, if you had the power, you would do the same damn thing.”

For once he truly had nothing to say to the boy. There were no snide comments on the tip of his tongue, no biting words. If anything, he felt a burgeoning respect for the young man. Xander had been right, after all. If their positions had been reversed, if he had lost Buffy, he would have moved Heaven and Hell to get her back. 

“What is it you expect from me?” Angel finally asked; his voice soft but deep, earnest but wary. “What am I supposed to do? I don’t know anything about time travel or anything like that.”

“Nothing can be done about the changes that have happened to the timeline,” Xander shrugged, taking a step back from Angel. “That’s not why I came here. As far I know, the changes are permanent. We need your help with the First.”

“But, I–don’t know–” Angel struggled for a response, feeling a little at a loss for words.

“You’re a Champion for the Powers That Be,” Xander sighed heavily. “That’s why I came to you. I don’t have a clue how to stop the First. Last time it took an army of slayers-in-training, a whopper of a spell, a vamp with a nifty amulet, and some mystical scythe just to bury this thing in a crater formerly known as Sunnydale, California.”

“We can’t do this by ourselves,” Angel pointed out dryly. “One vampire and a boy…you don’t even have any real power. We wouldn’t stand a chance against the First. And in case you didn’t know, I’m sure as hell not dying to save your ass, Harris.”

“You say the sweetest things Deadboy,” Xander replied drolly. “So what’s your bright idea?”

“We have to tell Giles and Buffy, after that, who knows?” Xander clenched his eyelids shut, letting out a harsh breath. He knew Angel was right, but he really wasn’t looking forward to telling Buffy and Giles all about their little foray into the past. Buffy would probably react badly. And Giles? He could practically see the Englishman furiously polishing his glasses and clucking his tongue already.

“Fine,” he agreed reluctantly. He opened his eyes, regarding Angel for a second before running a hand through his hair and glancing at his watch. It was almost three in the morning. He had to get home soon; he didn’t want Willow to worry about his whereabouts. “I’m gonna go, leave you to your…beauty sleep,” he snorted as he headed for the door. 

He had taken a step outside before he stopped, glancing over his shoulder to the vampire who was watching him with a bored expression, face pinched. “And Angel?” he added, the vampire giving the barest of nods as he waited for him to continue. Xander swallowed deeply, having to force himself to utter the next words, as painful as it was, and it needed to be said. “Thanks, for believing me.”

“Don’t mention it,” the darker man dismissed with a light glare and a wave of his hand. “I mean it,” he stressed, “don’t mention it. I don’t want anyone thinking I actually like you, that we’re friends.”

“Believe me,” muttered Xander as he continued on his way, moving to close the door behind him, “I sure as hell don’t want anyone thinking we’re friends either. I have standards, you know.” With one last roll of his eyes, he was gone.

Angel glared at his now closed front door, cursing what he got himself into. This situation was bad. It was only made worse with the knowledge that he would have to work side by side with Xander Harris.

 

Chapter Thirty-One:

 

Willow inhaled sharply, her eyes opening for the first time in hours. Her bedroom was still bathed in darkness, but one look at her clock told her it was now past ten in the morning. She had never been more grateful that it was a Saturday in her entire life. She struggled to sit up, her muscles cramped, protesting any movement. Sliding off the bed, her bare feet hit the ground and she padded to her closet. Slipping a comfortable cotton robe over her form, she cinched the waist tightly and slowly made her way out into the hall.

Her eyes squinted as she descended the stairs; the curtains in the living room pulled back, the windows letting in the bright sunshine. Licking her dry lips, she paused at the foot of the stairs as she heard muffled noises. She could hear pots and pans being moved about and what sounded like a low voice. She shrugged and headed toward the kitchen. Xander must be talking to himself again.

Pushing open the swinging door to the kitchen, a tiny smile came over her increasingly sullen face. Xander, his hair in a tangled mess from sleep, was clad in blue flannel pajama pants, a white t-shirt, Snoopy slippers, and a frilly pink apron. He was cooking eggs on the stove and buttering toast at the same time. When he noticed her presence in the doorway he grinned brightly and waved her over. 

“Morning Will,” he greeted happily. The redhead merely nodded, still a little drowsy.

“What time did you get in last night?” she wondered as she hopped onto a stool at the kitchen island. “I got back around two and you weren’t home.”

“I was sorta hoping you didn’t notice,” he admitted with a sheepish smile, consciously avoiding her gaze. “I got in a little after three.” He turned his back to her, his attention now focused slowly on the scrambled eggs he was making in the pan.

Willow reached for the morning paper, idly scanning the front page for any interesting headlines. Her brow furrowed when she heard Xander start to hum lightly. Xander never hummed. “Why are you so chipper this morning? I went to bed earlier than you and I’m still dead on my feet.”

“I am not chipper,” he denied, not bothering to turn around to look at her. “I just woke up this morning in a relatively good mood, so I decided to get up, make use of my day and make you breakfast.”

“Why *are* you making me breakfast?” she asked, suddenly suspicious as she watched his shoulders tense. “You don’t cook.”

“Hey now,” he pouted, forcing playfulness into his tone, “I wanted to do something nice for you and–”

“Xander…” she sighed, cutting him off, “what did you do?” She realized that came out a little more accusingly than she intended, but something was up. He was going out of his way to get on her good side this morning and was way too perky considering the rather awful night they had. 

“I didn’t do anything,” he denied, his voice a little too high. “Can’t I just be nice to my bestest bud in the whole wide world. You’ve been down lately and I–”

“What did you do?” Willow repeated, an edge in her voice that hadn’t been there a minute ago. “Look at me,” she demanded, her voice hard, when he still kept his back to her. Slowly, Xander turned on his heel, regarding his friend cautiously. “Now tell me what you did.”

“I told Angel.” All the breath left her lungs and her limbs felt numb, but anger also blazed inside her. She didn’t need to ask what he told Angel, she knew all too well. Her eyes closed and she rested her head in her hand, unable to bear looking at her best friend at the moment.

“You told Angel,” Willow shook her head. “I can’t believe you.”

“Will,” Xander started, placating. “Come on. Be reasonable.”

“Angel,” she bit out, her voice rising with every word she uttered. “How could you? Are you trying to gain us more enemies, as if the First isn’t enough?! I mean, come on Xander. He’s been hounding me ever since he figured out there was something up with us and you just went and spilled the beans! What the hell were you thinking?”

“I was thinking he could help,” he replied softly, head bowed shamefully.

“Help?” she snorted derisively. “You shouldn’t have told him anything. I can handle this on my own.”

“Yeah,” Xander added sarcastically, “because you’ve been doing such a good job of that lately.”

“What are you saying?” she nearly growled, pushing the stool she was seated on away from the island, now standing, hands on her hips.

“I’m saying you aren’t handling this at all!” he shouted, running a hand absently through his messy locks. “You’re losing it, Wills. We need help. We can’t do this alone.”

“We, we, we,” she laughed bitterly. “What is all this ‘we’ stuff, Xander? What have you done? When we first arrived here, did you research and find out what had changed? When Angel was demanding information, what did you do? Nothing, that’s what. You’ve done nothing!”

“You don’t mean that,” Xander muttered dejectedly.

“I don’t?” Willow shook her head sadly. “It’s the truth. Whenever we got in trouble, I was the one to deal with it. I fixed it. And I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but I’ll do it, I’ll fix things again.”

“Why can’t you just accept the fact that we need help?” Xander pleaded with her to listen.

“Who is going to help us, Xander?!” she asked him, her tone quietly desperate. “Angel, who hates us both, me in particular; Giles, who doesn’t trust us; or maybe Buffy, who will be so hurt when she finds out what we have been hiding from her. Who’s left, Xand? No one, we’re on our own, again.”

“He said he would help,” Xander assured her softly, taking a step toward her agitated form. “He wasn’t lying. And we can use all the help we can get. You can’t do this on your own, Will. It would be suicide.”

“I–” she exhaled, some of the fight leaving her. It was still so early in the morning and she still didn’t have all her wits about her yet. All she knew was that this was not shaping up to be a pleasant day. “I can’t even look at you right now,” she ground out through clenched teeth, shaking her head disappointedly. 

“Willow,” he said, throat tight. “I didn’t betray you. I’m just trying to make things better.”

The redhead seemed to ignore him completely, acting as if he had never spoken. Instead, she ran a hand through the tangled strands of her hair and glanced at the clock above the sink, muttering to herself. “I’m gonna take a shower,” she said listlessly, sparing Xander a tiny glance. “Just…stay away from me, for now.”

Xander watched his best friend turn away from him and his shoulders deflated noticeably. His eyes were sad, concerned, and even held a hint of devastation. He felt like there was nothing he could do to reason with her, that she was falling further away from him with everyday that passed and he had no idea what to do to bring her back to him. He blinked and looked to the door she had just walked through, now swinging idly on its hinges in her wake. He could hear her footsteps dragging along the carpet of the stairs and sighed hopelessly. “I was just trying to help…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Xander slowly made his way into the relatively deserted high school, trailing through the maze of darkened halls expertly, steps halting as he reached the entrance to the library. Angel, not to mention Buffy and Giles, would be waiting in there for him. In reality, they were waiting for both him and Willow, but Willow wasn’t going to be there. In fact, he hadn’t seen her since she had walked out the front door of the house they shared, freshly scrubbed and dressed to face the day. That had been early afternoon. She hadn’t spoken to him, or even looked in his direction for that matter, since he had confessed his late night visit with Angel. She was angry, which he understood in a way. But more than that, she seemed hurt, and he just didn’t know what to do to heal her pain and anger. She was slowly becoming more and more withdrawn and bitter as time went on and he felt helpless to stop it. 

Knowing he was only stalling now, he pushed open the double doors and stepped inside. His footsteps slowed and came to a halt as he met the gaze of Buffy, who was seated at the table in the center of the room. Angel was leaning against the counter, looking idly about the room. Giles was standing off to the side by his office, polishing his glasses just like he thought he would.

Merely looking at Buffy was difficult for the young man. She had this wounded expression on her face and he felt a sharp pang in his heart knowing that their secrets hurt her. She thought they were best friends. Best friends wouldn’t hide things like this, at least not for all this time. 

“Where’s Willow?” Buffy asked softly, unable to hold Xander’s apologetic gaze.

“She’s…uh…not coming,” he stammered, shuffling his feet a bit awkwardly. He spared Angel a pointed glance. “She’s a little mad at me right now.”

“Only a little?” Angel countered, unable to help himself.

“Stuff it, Deadboy,” he muttered, disgruntled. 

“I suggest we forego the petty bickering this evening,” Giles advised wisely, giving Angel a look that just screamed ‘you should know better’. “We have more important things to discuss. Although I do wish Willow was here, she would be an invaluable asset.”

“She pulled a vanishing act on me today,” Xander shrugged, “I don’t have a clue where she could be.”

“What do you know?” Angel snorted, “Xander doesn’t have a clue. Who would have thought?”

The sound of Giles clearing his throat rather loud and harshly stopped Xander from coming up with a suitable retort. He settled for simply glaring murderously at the vampire before returning his attention to the flustered librarian and his sullen slayer.

“Now then,” Giles began in his most authoritative voice, “Angel has filled us in on your discussion from last night and while I am hesitant to accept such a fanciful tale, I find myself believing you. But the question remains as to what can be done to vanquish the First.”

“You can’t vanquish the First Evil, G,” Xander interrupted. “The best we can hope for is to beat it into submission, and even that is pretty damn hard to do.”

“How did you defeat it before?” the watcher asked with an exhausted sigh.

“You know how,” Xander frowned. “I told Angel.”

“I know,” Giles countered, exasperation in his tone, “but I have the feeling that you left much out of your account of the–uh–previous Sunnydale. I need those details.”

He was right, Xander had to admit. But that didn’t mean he was planning to tell them anymore than he had to. He had only given Angel the barest of facts. That life was past and he preferred not to remind himself of it, besides, some of it had to do with some not so flattering details about Willow and he wasn’t about to share her deep, dark secrets without her permission.

“They wouldn’t help,” the young man denied. “Believe me; you know all you need to know. Just leave it at that.” 

“As you wish,” the librarian acquiesced, but it was obvious he wasn’t pleased.

“So where do we start?” Buffy broke in quietly, trying to be helpful and ignore the tension permeating through the room.

“The thing about the First,” Xander started, crossing his arms over his chest, “it’s non-corporeal. And since it can’t actually *do* anything, physically that is, it always needs an accomplice, of the corporeal variety.” His lips turned down slightly in a frown and his eyes narrowed in thought.

“Do go on,” Giles pressed, reluctantly intrigued.

“Last time around, the guy in charge was a psycho preacher named Caleb. He was…” he trailed off, unsure how to describe him. “I don’t know. He was more than meets the eye, that’s for sure. He was strong, and fast. He had the bringers under his command and with the First telling him all our secrets and whereabouts, we were at a huge disadvantage. He was good, deadly, oh, and he had a penchant for quoting the Bible.”

“Thank you, that last bit was ever so helpful Xander,” Giles rolled his eyes. 

“Could he be the one in charge?” Buffy interjected.

“I don’t know,” Xander admitted half-heartedly, “Could be. But everything is so different now, so who knows?” 

“So, we’ve got nothing,” she reiterated, her shoulders slumping. 

“Pretty much,” he agreed sadly. 

“I–I think I’ll go patrol, pound on some demons,” Buffy decided, standing abruptly. “See if they know anything, that sound okay Giles?” 

“Yes, fine,” he murmured distractedly, waving his hand about. “Be careful,” he added softly, worried now that they knew the entire situation with the bringers.

“Can I…” Xander hesitantly began, looking to the blonde now nearing the double doors. “Want me to come with you?”

“No,” she replied abruptly before feeling bad at the despondent look on his face. She shook her head and smiled, but it was strained. “Not tonight, Xan,” she amended softly, trying her best to be gentle.

“No problem,” he tried to reassure her although his attempts were half-hearted at best. “Maybe next time.”

“Yeah,” she agreed quietly. Giving Angel a curt nod of goodbye, she grabbed a spare stake and slipped out of the library, eager to be alone, to think. 

“You may as well sit down,” Giles advised the two men still lingering about, standing awkwardly. “We have research to do. I do believe we are in for a long night…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Buffy stalked through the cemetery silently, not even the soles of her shoes making a sound as she tread across the slightly damp grass. Her evening so far had been disappointingly uneventful, nothing more than a few fledges running about to dispatch. Even knowing that her chances of finding a decent fight were slim to none, she kept on. Every nerve in her body felt on edge, and while she knew in her mind that it wasn’t wise to go looking for trouble when she was so emotional, she didn’t stop her rounds. This was the only way she really knew how to deal with her pent up feelings of frustration and hurt, especially since she couldn’t turn to her best friends for support this time around. After all, they were the ones who put the hurt there in the first place.

She wasn’t angry, that much she knew. She was confused, and pained at the knowledge that Willow and Xander had kept such a large secret from her all this time. It had nearly been two years, two years that they had known each other. Years that she spent ignorant of the lies all around her. What made it worse was that they were her best friends and she didn’t know what to do without them, but at the moment, she had no desire to be around them.

Weaving her way around an array of crumbling tombstones, the blonde tucked a few errant strands of hair behind her ear and bit her lip in contemplation. She still hadn’t had enough time to process everything Angel had told them that day. Truth be told she was still in a bit of shock. Giles, on the other hand, being every bit the stuffy Brit that he was, took things in stride, amazed and doubtful but using this as an opportunity to learn. She could practically picture him frantically scribbling in his watcher’s diaries already. A ghost of a smile appeared on her face but then faded too fast.

At least this explained some of their strange behavior. Xander had always seemed goofy, but lately he had become more and more serious, and his reaction that night they had found the bringer had startled her. And Willow, she was distancing herself farther and farther away from them all as time went on. The redhead had always felt a little on the outside of everything, she had confessed that much to the slayer, but she had never been this withdrawn before. But now Buffy could understand a little better. They were scared. And honestly, she was scared too.

The First was serious business and Buffy had never been so unsure of herself in the face of battle before. There was so much they still didn’t know about their enemy. Add that to the fact that they were about to face off with the mother of all evil, and it nearly made her quiver in her overpriced boots. She didn’t know how they were going to pull this off. A job like this would take team work, and right now the gang was dissolving at a frighteningly rapid pace. 

A twig snapped and Buffy spun on her heel, stake clutched harshly in her fist, hand rose in preparation to strike.

“Hey,” Angel offered, hands in the air defensively, a hesitant smile on his handsome face, “it’s just me.”

“You scared me,” she muttered, turning away from his penetrating gaze, eyes on the ground. The stake fell to her side once more and Angel took a tentative step out from the shadows of the trees and into the clearing of the cemetery. He took a moment to study her in the moonlight, her blonde hair luminescent, shoulders hunched, fists clenched. She looked like she had lost her best friend, which was oddly true enough.

“You shouldn’t be patrolling if you’re not going to pay attention to your surroundings,” he admonished her softly, sympathetic to her pain. “You could have gotten hurt if it wasn’t just me sneaking up on you.”

“Angel,” she sighed, finally looking back up at the vampire. Her eyes were bloodshot and tired, mouth down-turned into a frown. “Please, no lectures. Not now, not tonight. Besides, I thought you were still at the library.”

“Sorry,” he apologized, feeling like a heel all of the sudden. “And I snuck out,” he admitted sheepishly. “Find any leads on the First?”

“Nope, nada, zilch, nothing, big fat zero,” she rambled with a roll of her eyes. 

“I’m guessing that was a no,” he smirked with an amused shake of his head. “So…” he started after an awkward moment of silence, “how are you?”

Buffy opened her mouth, ready to respond, but then shut it. Truthfully, she wasn’t sure exactly how she felt. “I don’t know,” she admitted with a shrug. “They are my best friends, Angel. With the exception of you and Giles, they are the only ones who know me, all of me. And they have been lying to me since we met.”

“Maybe they were just trying to protect you,” he offered.

“You’re defending Xander and Will?” she snorted incredulously, “Never thought I’d see the day.”

“I never said what they did was right,” he argued patiently. “They lied to all of us, to you, and that isn’t right. But they did it because they love you,” his last two words were nothing more than a whisper and the blonde broke their gaze, a little uncomfortable. “I can understand that. You’d do anything to protect the person you love.” 

Buffy cleared her throat nervously and shifted a bit, trying to avoid Angel’s knowing gaze. Angel sighed and looked away from her in slight frustration.

“So if patrol’s a bust, why don’t you come back to the library with me?” he suggested. “Xander is still there pretending to look busy and Giles has managed to have his nose buried in three books at one time…”

“I think I’m gonna keep going,” Buffy replied, her tone a little cool. “The night’s still young and all.”

“You can’t avoid them forever,” Angel stated bluntly when she took a step forward to walk away. “I know you’re hurt, you’re entitled to be, but avoiding them isn’t going to fix anything.”

“Don’t you think I know that?” she demanded, turning to glare at him, her voice almost a yell. “Do you think I *want* to feel like this? To feel like they betrayed me? Here’s a newsflash Angel, I don’t. They are my friends, my only real friends, but I can’t just forgive and forget already. It’s too soon, give me a little time to deal, will you?!” 

“Well don’t take too long,” he nearly growled. “Your survival depends on those two. Hell, the only things standing between life as we know it and hell on earth are Xander Harris and Willow Rosenberg. The thought alone terrifies me.” 

“Don’t worry,” she returned, a little of the fight leaving her, “I know what we have to do. I know we need to work together, no infighting or pettiness. We’ll get this done, save the world yet again. And then…”

Angel waited a beat for her to finish her thought but she remained quiet. He took a step forward and laid a gentle hand on her shoulder, some of the tension in her dissolving at his touch. “Then what?”

Buffy looked up at him, smiling slightly at the concern she saw etched on his face. “Then we’ll all have a very long talk.”

 

Chapter Thirty-Two:

 

She had always been quite the early riser, especially since moving to Sunnydale. Mostly that was due to the class schedule she kept every weekday, a definite change from the rather laidback life of the gypsies that she descended from. Having a nine to five job wasn’t exactly new to her, but many of the remaining members of the Kalendash preferred a much simpler way of life. But being a techno-pagan suited her, and while her choice to come to Sunnydale hadn’t been so much hers, but that of her clan, she had truly begun to like it there, despite the dangerous night life. But today she took advantage of the rare opportunity to sleep in.

Jenny Calendar greeted the Sunday morning with a small smile, padding her way down the hall to her bathroom and soaked in the warmth that came from the steam of her hot shower, it helped stave off the chill of morning.

When she was done getting cleaned up, she moved to the mirror over her sink, wiping away the remnants of steam that fogged up the glass, studying her reflection. She had no plans for the day, so shrugging she grabbed her hairbrush and a hair-band, choosing to simply pull her dark strands into a ponytail instead of bothering to blow dry it. 

Clad in a pair of jeans and a long sleeve shirt in a hunter green that accented her eyes, it always had been her favorite color; she walked, comfortably barefoot, into the kitchen to fix a late breakfast. Her eyes fell to the clock on the counter and she shook her head when she noticed the time. She was moving very slowly that day; it was already almost noon. But she didn’t let that bother her, after all, everyone deserved one day of absolute laziness, right? 

After finishing her rather meager breakfast of toast with jam, she sat down at her kitchen table, coffee in hand, and opened the front section of the newspaper. She had made it to the third page when the knocking started.

It wasn’t loud by any means. In fact, the sound was soft; as if the person waiting on the other side wasn’t sure they wanted to be acknowledged. Jenny frowned, pausing a moment, in case she was just hearing things. A second later another round of knocks came.

With a quizzical expression, the brunette stood, folding her paper neatly on top of the table, and headed into the living room. One glance into the peephole caused her puzzled expression to give way to utter surprise and she quickly unlocked the door, standing awkwardly in the doorway, looking at her visitor with an unsure smile of welcome.

“Willow,” Jenny greeted the tiny redhead, her voice a little timid. “Hello.”

The redhead in question fidgeted a bit, wringing her hands anxiously as her eyes darted about, never landing on the computer teacher once. She had left her house in such a hurry that morning, throwing on some jeans and an old Sunnydale High t-shirt in her haste to get away from Xander.

“Hi,” Willow said, her voice hoarse.

“Um,” stammered Jenny uncertainly, “w-would you like to come in?”

A single nod of the head was her only reply and Ms. Calendar took a step back to allow her passage. “Thanks,” she whispered as she stepped past the older woman, moving awkwardly into the living room.

“Do you want coffee?” Jenny offered amicably, sending a gentle grin her way, an attempt to soothe the obviously nerve-wracked redhead. “I made coffee.”

Willow shook her head at the offer and remained as still as a statue just inside the entry way. As if just noticing, Jenny shut the still open front door abruptly and stepped further inside her house.

“Please,” she implored, radiating kindness, “have a seat. Make yourself comfortable.” She waved a hand in the general direction of the sofa and Willow walked with small, hesitant steps, toward the couch, sitting down on the cushions ever so gently.

Jenny took a seat beside the young witch, brow furrowing in concern as she observed Willow’s stiff posture. The girl’s pain and anger were pouring off of her, that was obvious, but she also seemed to be shrouded in a cloud of despair and uncertainty. She could only guess what had caused such emotional turmoil, but she had some ideas.

“You know about…” Willow prompted, leaving her quietly muttered sentence unfinished as she looked her once dead computer teacher in the eye for the first time that morning. 

“About your spell?” the brunette replied, giving her a small nod. “Yes, I–uh–got a phone call from Rupert–Mr. Giles, yesterday. He filled me in on everything.”

She had been working on debugging a laptop for one of her friends when the call had come in. Rupert had sounded so stressed, and he was doing that weird clucking thing which was never a good thing. She had offered to come down to the library to talk, but he refused. And then he proceeded to just blurt everything out. Xander’s confession to Angel, Willow’s tampering with the timeline, the appearance of the First, and their now frantic search to find whoever was acting as the First’s right hand man or woman as the case may be. 

She was fully prepared to meet the gang at the library to start researching, but he had told her not to bother. There wasn’t much to be found that night, it could wait a night. So she had remained at home, her feelings somewhere between shock and incomprehension. She knew Willow was powerful, she could feel it in her bones, but she had no idea that tiny girl held that much raw power within her. It was little intimidating to be honest. 

Willow nodded, confirming her suspicions. The twosome remained sitting in complete silence for a good five minutes before Willow let out a sigh, long and drawn out.

“I’m sorry about just…showing up here,” admitted the witch, running a hand through her slightly messy hair in frustration. “I just…I didn’t know where to go and I…if I stayed there, with him, I don’t know…it would have been badness. Badness would abound.”

“It’s okay Willow,” she assured her pupil, laying a tentative hand on her knee in a show of comfort. “Really, I understand.”

The snort the redhead let out was most unbecoming and Jenny pulled her hand back in surprise, hurt showing in her eyes. “You don’t–can’t understand,” Willow denied fervently. 

“I can try,” Jenny returned, voice steady and calming. “If you let me. You can talk to me Willow. I know we aren’t…close. But, you haven’t really let anyone be close to you. You’ve even kept your friends at a distance. You need to open up to someone. You know…speak candidly.”

Willow smiled grimly. There was only one person since their return to Sunnydale that she had spilled all her secrets to; who, while not considered a friend, could be trusted to not judge her. The fact that her confidant was a murderous vampire struck her as insanely absurd and yet oddly comfortable.

Here she was, given a chance to confide in someone, a person who in her earlier life had been her mentor, but could she take it? She had spent months feeling so alone, becoming used to the pain of loneliness, that the idea of ‘sharing her feelings’ was absolutely distasteful.

“How about–can you at least tell me why you are so angry with Xander?” Jenny started, Willow’s stony silence making it obvious that the witch wasn’t about to start the conversation.

“He went behind my back,” she replied, a coldness seeping into her tone that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “He didn’t trust me to deal with this on my own. He didn’t trust me, period.”

“Willow,” the brunette interrupted, placating, “He was just trying to help. You need help. You can’t be expected to do this all on your own–”

“Why not?” she remarked angrily, forcing her fiery gaze away from the computer teacher. “I’ve been left to fix everything else on my own. Whenever something went wrong, I had to fix it. Xander never helped, never lifted a finger. And now he’s so proactive?” she asked incredulously. 

“Maybe he realized that one person can’t deal with this alone,” Jenny tried to explain. “The First…that’s big, Willow. You couldn’t possibly deal with that on your own.”

“You don’t understand!” she sighed in aggravation.

“Then make me understand!” Jenny exclaimed in equal annoyance, growing tired with her attitude. She just wanted to help, but Willow seemed determined to not let her.

“Xander–he acts like this just happened to him and him alone, you know. Like his life was the only one that was changed,” Willow grumbled, giving up sitting still for pacing. “Life was–life was bad, but we could have dealt, you know? People die, but we manage to go on somehow. But he was just so…broken. I couldn’t just leave him like that. And he begged me, you know. He begged me to make it better, to–to take us back. I said no, I told him it was a bad idea. But it was Xander and I just–I couldn’t refuse him. Not when he was so desperate. So I did it, I sent us back. And ever since I’ve been dealing with the repercussions of our actions while he alternates between moping and ignoring our problems entirely.”

“Will–”

“I hate it here,” she muttered dejectedly, interrupting Jenny without apology. “I–my friends aren’t even really my friends anymore. We don’t talk. That trust that was there before is gone. It’s not the same. It was *supposed* to be the same,” she argued adamantly. “Everything’s so wrong…”

“Willow,” Jenny murmured, taken aback by the weight of the sadness radiating off her. She stood, reaching a hand out to rest on her shoulder, to stop her pacing. 

The redhead visibly flinched at her friendly touch and stepped away from the older woman, shaking her head.

“I shouldn’t have come here,” she mumbled, angry with herself and her sudden impulsiveness. “I know you’re just trying to be nice, lend a ‘sympathetic ear’ and all that, but I can’t do this now, okay? You were right; I just needed to get some things off my chest. But I have to go now,” she declared, spinning on the balls of her feet and heading for the door abruptly. 

“You’re wrong,” the gypsy announced, trying to halt her movements. “You need to talk to someone about all this. It’s not good to hold it all in. You’ve been doing that for months now. It’s not healthy. You need someone to talk to.”

“I know, I do,” she assured her hurriedly, eager to be gone. The room felt small, stifling to her all of the sudden and she desperately needed to be gone, needed air. “Thanks for–” she trailed off, shrugging. She wasn’t sure what to thank her for. Thanks for the hospitality? Thanks for listening to me rant? Thanks for simply opening the door in the first place? In the end it all seemed so inadequate, so she settled for rushing out the front door, barely shutting it behind her in her haste to anywhere but there. 

Jenny was left staring stupidly at her now closed door, shaking her head. Well there went her nice peaceful afternoon.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

She watched him with weary eyes, tired from both lack of sleep and pure exhaustion. She was always tired nowadays; she was beginning to grow used to it. Resting in her bed, lying comfortably against black satin sheets, her raven hair spread across her pillow as she studied his silent form.

“Spike?” He didn’t move. Seated across from her in an overstuffed armchair, shoulders hunched, sitting forward, hands tented under his chin in the typical ‘thinking man’s pose’. Drusilla frowned slightly when he ignored her, knowing it was nothing personal but still a little disappointed. He had a lot on his mind, but she still didn’t like it when he failed to pay attention to her.

He had been home for a few hours, but he had spent most of that time pacing restlessly. Whatever happened the night before obviously bothered him. Eventually he had come in to check on her, and had remained in her room, seated in that chair, lost in his thoughts. She had tried a couple times to get his attention, but he never responded. He was too busy thinking. A dark frown clouded her face and she turned to Miss Edith who was resting at her side. Dru’s forehead crinkled in concentration as she listened to the hushed whisperings of her dear doll, hoping she could shed some light on Spike’s despondent behavior.

Dark eyes bored into his still form and a slight knowing, understanding smile spread across her tired but delicate face. “She clouds your thoughts…” Spike began to perk up in his chair, her words finally getting through to him. “You saw her last night; I can still smell her in the air…”

For a moment he appeared contemplative before his shoulders slumped once more and he fell back into the chair, a dark look on his face. “She’s just some daft bird,” he dismissed with a grunt, “forget about her. She’s nothin’.” 

“You’re wrong,” she tsked disapprovingly, her face darkening at his denial. Dru opened her mouth to speak again but he cut her off abruptly when he stood with speed.

“Sun’s down soon,” he muttered, face still set in a confounded and annoyed expression, “I need some air. You’d do best to get some rest, pet,” he advised, sparing her the barest of glances before striding purposefully out of the room, shutting the door firmly behind him as he went in search of a way out.

Drusilla let out a long sigh, head tilted to the side as she looked to her now closed door almost contemplatively. Scooting further under her slippery satin sheets, she let her head finally come to rest comfortably on her pillow once more, slowly closing her eyes, letting sleep overcome her once more. “Foolish boy…”

 

Chapter Thirty-Three:

 

Her afternoon was spent stewing in her own anger and mounting frustration. Left on her own with nothing more than her thoughts to keep her company, naturally her sense of betrayal only began to compound. She tended to over-think things, she knew that, everyone knew that, but she didn’t realize how mad she had allowed herself to get until she registered the stinging pain in her hands. Her hands had been curled into tight fists, the tips of her fingernails digging in harshly into her palm. Looking down, Willow took note of how close she had come to drawing blood and shook her head, the glaring red half-moon indents staring up at her.

Two o’clock in the afternoon had found her sitting on a park bench, staring blankly at the swing sets and slides that were currently being played with by a small group of children, no more than five or six years old. Her gaze shifted to the little sandbox just off to the side where a boy and girl sat, making sandcastles. 

She remembered a time, even though the memory seemed like ancient history, when that was her and Xander. They were inseparable, playing together, counting on each other, keeping each other’s secrets. Apparently Xander wasn’t so good at that last one anymore, she thought bitterly, barely resisting a derisive snort.

She didn’t want to be mad at Xander, in fact she hated being mad at Xander, but at that very moment she couldn’t stop herself. There had been a time, when they first came back, when Xander didn’t even want to be associated with Buffy and the rest of the so-called Scooby gang, and now he was telling them everything and he didn’t even have the courtesy to warn her before he ran to Angel to spill the beans. Sure, the circumstances had changed, the situation they were in was more serious, but she was still so damn sure she could figure a way to fix this without their help, without them knowing a thing. Besides, she never thought she would have to worry about Xander taking the initiative; he hadn’t really been of much help until then, why would he start now? But she obviously underestimated him. This whole ordeal with the First was getting to him and he was desperate, in a way she couldn’t blame him.

Desperation she could understand. These past few weeks had been hard on her, both physically and emotionally. She didn’t sleep well anymore, and the stress of keeping all these secrets from the people she was supposed to trust implicitly was getting to her. But still, she fought to keep her head high, to carry on like a good little soldier. She had survived her revisit to the hell mouth thanks to her own ingenuity and smarts, and while her situation was looking continually worse, she had been so sure she could do it again. She trusted her abilities. It hurt to think that Xander didn’t. 

As the day went on and the sun moved across the sky, eventually draping her seated form in shadows, an unsettling feeling gathered in the pit of her stomach. She felt useless, here she was, sitting and pouting while her friends were gathered in the library researching like there was no tomorrow. Willow sighed, fidgeting, her hands in her lap. She didn’t like that feeling, this whole sitting and doing nothing wasn’t her thing. That was more Xander’s gig, or Cordelia’s. 

Part of her wanted to get up, brush off any lingering anger and sadness away, and march to the library. She was research girl after all, that was her place. But she couldn’t. At that moment, she couldn’t bear to look at Xander. His lack of trust in her, the fact that he ran to Angel instead of her when he was in trouble pained her beyond belief. She wasn’t sure what her exact reaction would be if she saw him now, whether she’d cry or smack him, but either way she knew it wouldn’t be pretty. And she was willing to bet that no one in that room, save her best friend, would welcome her presence. She and Xander had lied to them all for so long, and with Buffy, trust was everything.

Going to the library was definitely out of the question. Glancing at her wristwatch, eyes straining to see the time in the growing darkness, she took a deep, considering breath. She stood slowly, determinedly, tightening the jacket around her to stave off the chill that came with dusk. 

The brooding redhead wasn’t about to just sit here and do nothing, especially now that dark was soon approaching and the monsters would be coming out to play. She had sworn to herself before that she could deal with the First, on her own, and she was going to do it, even if just to spite Xander. Willow couldn’t resist a frown at the bitter thought and she shook her head. Resolutely she straightened her back, squaring her shoulders, a calm, cool, almost emotionless look overcoming her features. She had to push Xander out of her thoughts for now; she could deal with him later. She had more important things to do.

She had to go see a bartender about a demon.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

It took a moment for her eyes to adjust to the darkness of Willy’s bar. The sun was almost down and had turned the sky a brilliant mixture of pink and orange, but the dank demon bar she walked into was void of any natural light, mostly black with only a couple lamps or wall fixtures lighting up the place.

Pausing a bit in the doorway, Willow scanned the room. Because it wasn’t full dark yet there weren’t as many customers as there usually were. There were a couple of vamps who, by the look of them, were pretty smashed. They probably had come the night before and stayed the day, drinking to pass the time. She turned her nose up in disgust and easily dismissed them as any possible threat.

A cold smile crept over her face when she saw the familiar form of the short brunette bartender walk out from the back, a dirty rag in his hands, and make his way behind the bar. Willy, just the lowlife she was looking for.

“Hiya Willy,” she greeted as she strode in his direction, a confident swagger to her walk. Her voice was as perky as ever, but he couldn’t mistake the look in her eye. She meant business.

Swallowing convulsively, the greasy little man tried his best to smile in greeting, but it came out more of a grimace. “Hey kid,” he stammered, looking around nervously for any sign of trouble, or more specifically the Slayer. “What brings you my way?”

“There’s a new big evil in town,” the redhead replied conversationally, giving him a sickly sweet smile. “Know anything about it?”

“New evil?” he coughed out a nervous laugh, hands wringing the rag still in his hands. “Nah. But you know, these guys,” he said, motioning absently to the various demons congregated in his bar, “they don’t tell me much since the Slayer started paying visits here, you know? I ain’t heard nothing.”

“Now Willy,” she sighed dramatically, giving him a disappointed look, “you’re lying to me. I don’t appreciate that. I’ve been having a bad day. Do you really want to make it worse? I’ve been told I can be a real bear when I’m cranky.”

Willow leaned in closer; to make sure their conversation would be kept private and away from prying eyes and ears. “You and I both know the First is back,” she hissed, eyes narrowed. “No use in denying that. You’d have to be blind, deaf and dumb not to know that and we both know you’re not blind or deaf,” she smirked. “So I’m gonna give you another chance to be helpful, or else I might have to break out the mojo. And trust me; I can be a whole lot scarier than the Slayer. Now, who is helping the First?”

“I don’t know,” he replied, his voice becoming frantic when she scowled at him with a look of death. “Honest kid, I don’t know! I wasn’t lying really. They don’t tell me much anymore, but I…you know…I hear things. Stuff I’m not supposed to.”

“And?” she asked in a bored tone, growing tired with their conversation.

“And…” he drawled in his nasally voice, “I know where you might be able to get some info. I heard a group of guys talking in here a couple days ago. They were going on about the First, sounded like they had some inside information, you know? You might be able to get them to spill the beans. Just threaten them with that magic of yours, or tell ‘em you’ll sic the Slayer on ‘em. They’ll help you.”

“If you’re lying to me I’m going to find out,” she warned him.

“I’m not lying,” he swore. “They’re, uh, frenier demons. Ever heard of them?” At the shake of her head he explained, “They’re about your boy Angel’s size. A little scaly, but who’s really paying attention. They’ll help ya. Just tell them Willy sent you.”

She stepped back, giving him a little more breathing room, and eyed him considerably. Her skepticism must have showed on her face because he looked her in the eye and smiled brightly, trying to be reassuring. “Trust me,” he assured her, “They’re really not bad guys…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Spike had been wandering aimlessly about town for almost an hour. His steps were slow, leisurely, his boots scuffing as he dragged them along the sidewalk. His mind was elsewhere. He had already sated his hunger earlier that night, but was still in no mood to head back to the factory. Drusilla would be there and while he loved her like family, he couldn’t take her inquisitive looks and insightful mutterings, not now. He hated feeling confused, but it was quickly becoming a feeling he was growing quite accustomed to since he found himself in good ole Sunnydale, U.S.A. There were days when he truly hated this pathetic little town and all the people in it, most especially a redhead witch who seemed determined to mess with his head.

The sound of a scuffle perked up his ears. Always one to enjoy a good spot of violence he ambled toward the sound of fighting, a smirk across his handsome face.

“Not bad guys…” he heard a familiar voice nearly growl, strain obvious in her tone. His stride quickened and he turned a corner to the entrance of one of Sunnydale’s many cemeteries. “I’m gonna kill him,” he heard her mutter, disgruntled. “Then I’m going to bring him back, and kill him again!”

The redheaded bane of his existence was surrounded on all sides by four demons that nearly towered over her. He could see her lips moving, but couldn’t make out the words. A bright, nearly blinding light shot out from her palms, sending the one on her left and the other on her right flying backwards. One slammed into a tree with a sickening crack before sliding to the ground. At the very least its back had to be broken, he certainly wasn’t getting up anytime soon. The other hit a granite tombstone, breaking it into unrecognizable pieces. He didn’t stay down though; instead he pulled himself up and with an angry growl started in the witch’s direction.

Spike glanced back to the girl. He could tell from the way she held herself that she was nearly drained. She had resorted to hand to hand combat instead of relying on her magic. He held back a flinch when she was struck violently across the face.

Before he realized what he was doing, he was moving. He was in a full out run; reaching the third demon that he had seen hit the tombstone before he could touch the girl, and with practiced skill wrapped his hands about its head and neck and twisted. The body landed on the ground with a thud and he turned his attention once again on Willow. 

Willow let out a short yelp of both surprise and pain when a kick sent her flying back. She hit the hard ground and felt all the air rush out of her chest with a groan.

Spike saw her sail through the air and ran to her aid, picking her up from the ground and tossing her over his shoulder with ease. He bit out a curse when the two remaining demons spotted him. “Bloody hell,” he growled, securing his grip on her before turning and making a break for it.

He could hear the thundering footsteps of their pursuers on his heels, but he had speed and agility on his side as he wove through the cemetery, in and out of rows of tombstones. When he could no longer hear them, he slowed his pace a bit and ducked inside a formerly locked mausoleum, relieving his burden on the marble tomb with a heavy sigh. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Ow!” Willow yelped involuntarily, glaring up menacingly at the one who was trying his best to help her, despite his best interest. “Watch it,” she growled through clenched teeth, her hands tightening into fists in her lap as he continued to clean her mostly superficial wounds with surprising gentleness. 

His only reply was a grunt and roll of the eyes at her disgruntled display. “Sit still,” he ordered gruffly, finally getting the last bit of blood and dirt off her face, tossing the now soiled rag onto the dusty floor. 

Willow squirmed, unable to stop herself, as she sat on top of the marble slab in the middle of the drafty, but thankfully abandoned crypt. Her head was pounding; it felt as if there were miniature soldiers marching to a beat inside her skull. She licked her dry lips and winced when her tongue hit the fresh cut on her bottom lip. At this point, she was just fighting to keep her eyes open. She was tired, exhausted really, and smarting from a few unexpected and well-placed kicks and punches. 

Meanwhile, her reluctant savior was peering at her face with a critical eye. The redhead was tempted to tell him to go shove it, even if merely on principal alone, but he was helping her. The least she could was feign gratitude. 

“You’re gonna have quite the shiner there, Red,” Spike smirked, as if mildly delighted by her pain. She snorted, and then flinched at the soreness in her ribs. His eyes glinted with mirth in the darkness and she couldn’t hold back her scowl.

“So glad you find my pain amusing,” she hissed in annoyance, her hands now bracing the edge of the tomb, ready to push herself off. 

Heaving a great sigh, Spike took a step forward and shoved her back into her seated position, glaring at her sternly until he was sure she wasn’t going to try to move again.

“What the hell did you think you were doing tonight?” he asked bluntly, frowning down at her with his leather clad arms crossed over his chest, legs spread shoulder-width apart. He eyed her, his face hard. Her clothing was a bit worse for wear, a couple tears at the knees, but nothing too bad. Her hair was wild, and if he was correct, there was a tiny leaf still stuck amidst the vibrant red strands. Reaching forward he plucked the foreign object from her hair and granted her a raised brow. A leaf it was. He didn’t find her face, or at least what had been done to it, nearly as amusing.

Her right eye was already beginning to swell up, the skin around starting to darken. She’d definitely be walking around tomorrow with a wicked black eye. Her lip was cut and had just stopped bleeding. Her right cheek looked to be bruised, but she had no broken bones, he had checked thoroughly. And there was a tiny cut above her right eye, which had bled profusely, as most head wounds tended to do. Her ribs were sensitive, he was betting on severely bruised but not broken, and it was possible that she had twisted her ankle, but he couldn’t be sure, she refused to let him see. Stubborn bint. 

Willow resisted the urge to smirk at his tone, he almost sounded concerned, but mostly he seemed pissed. Good ole Spike, so predictable sometimes. But she had to admit, he had a point, what the hell had she been thinking? The answer, she hadn’t been. It had been a very long day and she would be the first to admit, although not to the likes of Spike, that she hadn’t been thinking straight.

“I so don’t need a lecture from you,” Willow grumbled, breaking what little eye contact she had with the bleached blonde in order to study her feet.

“Funny,” he bit out, growing frustrated with her. “It sure as hell seems like it. I never thought you were daft, but after your little stunt tonight, I guess you proved me wrong.” 

“Hey,” she interrupted; lips pursed together, obviously irritated, “lay off.” She shifted a little and fought a grimace, knowing that he would still catch it with his ever watchful eye. “Look,” the witch exhaled slowly, “don’t think I’m not grateful for the save and all, but it wasn’t necessary. I was fine on my own.”

“Are you bloody bonkers, pet?” Spike nearly shouted, his rumbling voice echoing threateningly off the walls of the crypt, but she didn’t flinch once. She had grown quite used to his tantrums over the years, before everything went crazy. Well, crazier than normal. “I find you, trying to have a nice little chat with a bunch of sodding frenier demons, and you think you would have been fine!”

“It was no big deal,” she shrugged off, eyes darting about the room. 

“Have you looked in a mirror?” he growled, his eyes glowing eerie amber in the low light, a testament to his fury. Spike was pissed. He wasn’t sure exactly why, but that didn’t change anything. He shouldn’t give a damn that she could have gotten herself killed that night. He didn’t want to care that he found her bruised and bloody but still fighting that group of rather temperamental demons. He certainly shouldn’t be a little proud that she had managed to hold her own for so long before he had stumbled upon them. But still, he was all those things and more. But mostly, the vampire known as William the Bloody was pissed. 

“Not lately,” she returned smartly, choosing to ignore his angry snarl. 

“What the hell possessed you to make you think it would be a good idea to just go looking for trouble?” he demanded, his jaw clenching in aggravation. 

“Why do you care?” she responded, voice raised daringly. “It’s none of your business. I had things to take care of, and I was. It may not have been the smartest thing to do,” she amended with much reluctance, “I may have been a little rash in my decision, but I could have handled it. I didn’t need you to run in and save the day. I’m not some sorry little damsel in distress and you sure as hell don’t look like a knight in shining armor here.”

“So this is what I get for helping you,” Spike grumbled angrily, “Bloody white hats. Next time, remind me not to bother.”

“Gladly,” she smiled with false sincerity and he glared at her. 

“Oh hell,” he sighed with a dramatic shake of his head. His hand came up to rub the back of his neck, a gesture that spoke of his tiredness and frustration more than words could. “Just this once, can you level with me pet? What were you doing out there?”

She didn’t know if it was the honest to god curiosity in his voice, or the soft, almost hidden pleading that got to her, but she opened her mouth and it all just came pouring out in a rush.

“I just…I had to do something, okay?” she started, a little defensively. Spike had a blank but intrigued look on his face, ready and prepared for the inevitable babble that would ensue. He had learned quite a few things about the little redhead since their first meeting and he knew, first and foremost, the girl was quite the talker. 

“I’ve been–Xander and I had this fight,” she explained and he was tempted to sneer contemptuously at the mention of the boy, he remained stone-faced. “It was kinda big, huge really. And I stormed out, I just couldn’t be around him, you know? He made me feel–he didn’t trust me. Everything I’ve done has been to help him, our friends, but he doesn’t trust me. The second there’s a big problem, does he come to me? Does he let me handle it? No, he runs to them, to Angel! I mean, come on! He hates Angel. He doesn’t think I can do it. He doesn’t think I’m strong enough.

“He won’t say that, of course. It’s not like him. But that’s the truth. So I left. Spent most of the day wallowing if you want me to be honest. But I couldn’t just sit there and feel sorry for myself. I’m the smart one, research girl, I’m *not* useless. I’m not,” she swore, her voice shaky. “So I–I went to see Willy. We…there’s trouble, demony trouble, what’s new? And we don’t know who we’re looking for exactly. But Willy, he’s got connections, you know? So who better to turn to? And he told me about these guys, the frenier demons, who might be able to help. He said they’d have some information for me.

“What he failed to tell me was that they aren’t really fans of, well…people,” she frowned darkly. Spike smirked at the look in her eyes. Willy should be expecting some serious payback from the little witch for that. “I found them, we talked, it didn’t turn out so well. And I still don’t know anymore than I did earlier today,” she mumbled dejectedly. “You were there for the rest…”

She got this weird look in her eye and she glanced up at him, and Spike felt uneasy not for the first time that night. “Why were you there?” she asked, eyes narrowing in suspicion. “And more importantly, why would you help me? We’re not exactly what I’d call friends.”

Blue eyes became unreadable and his body was noticeably tense, but Spike still didn’t respond. Why did he help her? That was a question he wasn’t sure he wanted to answer. She was right. They weren’t friends. He was a vampire, they didn’t have pals. But he couldn’t deny there was something there. Call it what you will, an understanding, camaraderie, whatever it was. He sure as hell didn’t know what she was to him, but he certainly didn’t want her dead. That was why he had saved her when he had stumbled on her one-man suicide mission. Until he could figure out what she was to him, he wanted her around. He had begun to realize that the night before.

He had tried to dismiss her, but he knew Dru didn’t believe him. He didn’t believe himself. And he wasn’t about to admit to Willow that their frenzied kiss the night before had left him a little more than shaken in its wake. 

“I was out for a bite to eat,” he replied dismissively, waving her off and turning to look away from the tiny woman seated before him. “Just happened to stumble on you.” Which was the truth. “Lucky for you I did. Otherwise those friends of yours would be finding bits o’ Willow on their next patrol.” 

She nodded absently and her hands played with the hem of her shirt, a nervous habit. “You gonna thank me, love?” he added snarkily, unable to resist.

“Thanks,” she muttered, a tinge of resentment at having to be saved in her tone. 

“Bloody hell,” he grumbled, rolling his eyes as she remained silent. His eyes darted to the door of the crypt that they had run to for shelter, noting that it was still mostly dark outside. If they made good time, he could get her home and be back at the factory before the sun came up. “Come on, witch,” he sighed, taking a small step toward her and pulling his duster around him a little tighter. “I’ll take you home. You need to sleep and if I let you go on your own, some fledgling will get ya. Mover yourself, will you?”

“I–” she stammered a bit, the normally strong, arrogant tone she reserved just for him gone. She sounded like a little girl, tired and disheartened. His eyes fell shut and his head fell back as he sighed inwardly, cursing his very nature. If there was one thing he couldn’t stand, it was a sad woman. Unless he was responsible for it, which he most certainly was not. “I’m not ready to go home. Xander will be there and I–I don’t want to deal with him right now. I don’t want to deal with any of them.”

“Can’t say I blame you,” he muttered in total agreement. Hesitantly, he approached her, moving to sit beside her on the tomb, and Willow watched him warily.

“I don’t need a babysitter,” she informed him tightly. “Go away. Go home. I’ll be fine.”

“You’ll be fine,” he said mockingly, sneering at her. “You’ll be fine. You keep saying that, pet, but you’re not fine. Any idiot can see that.”

“I guess any idiot just did,” she replied smartly, wilting a little under his harsh glare. 

“You’re falling apart at the bloody seams and you’re too daft to see it,” he informed her, not bothering to be gentle or calming. “You go from one mood to the next in the blink of an eye. And you nearly got yourself killed tonight. You think that’s fine? You think that confronting a group of sodding demons, in your state of mind, was smart of you? If you ask me you’re acting loonier than Dru. If I hadn’t been there to save you–”

“You think I’m happy I needed to be saved!” she interrupted angrily, jumping up from her spot on the tomb. “The only person I have relied on since I came back to this hellhole is me. Believe me, that fact that I needed *you* to save me doesn’t exactly sit well with me,” she ground out.

“Oh hell,” he groaned, rolling his eyes and latching onto her arm to pull her back down. “Sit down and get over yourself, will you?” When she looked like she was about to argue, he silenced her with a look.

“Look,” he sighed, holding her gaze with a grave expression. “I’ve done the whole lone wolf thing. You know, rely and depend on myself and nobody else. But I’ve got news for you pet, it doesn’t work. Going it alone will only get you killed,” he said with a raised brow daring her to say anything. “You may be having a tiff with your mates, I don’t really give a damn, but going up against a group of demons on your own because you’re too proud to ask for help doesn’t make you brave, just stupid.”

“I’m not stupid, Spike,” she muttered, breaking their gaze to study her feet. “But I made this mess and I’m going to fix it. If I thought I could trust them, then maybe…but I already know Xander doesn’t trust me, not enough. I can do this…”

He frowned at her cryptic remarks, not completely sure what she was talking about. Her head dipped a bit and her eyes were closed, her breathing slowing. He knew she had to be exhausted and unless he just picked her up and dragged her home, he knew she wasn’t going anywhere tonight. With a sigh he stood, tapping her on the knee to get her attention.

“Lay down,” he said, with a nod toward the slab she was currently sitting on. A puzzled look crossed her face and he rolled his eyes. “You’re about to pass out and if you fall off and land on the floor I’m not picking you up.”

She made a face at his gruff declaration but did as he said, her movements slow, mindful of her injuries. She laid on her back, turning a little to her right and tucking her legs in closer to her chest as the chill of the marble worked its way into her skin.

Spike caught sight of her slight shiver and frowned. With quick movements, as if he had to do it before he changed his mind; he shrugged off his duster and tossed it to the half asleep girl.

Willow blinked in surprise before rearranging the leather to drape over her form, shielding her from the cold. She watched as the bleached blonde moved to sit on the stone floor, his back against the far wall as he dug out a cigarette and his lighter.

“Uh,” she hesitated, watching as he took a deep drag before exhaling, the smoke curling about his face. “Thanks,” she murmured softly, for the first time she was completely sincere but Spike said nothing. The only sign that he had even heard her was the sharp nod of his head before he went back to studying the tendrils of smoke before him.

Unsure of what else to do, she let her eyes drift shut as she descended into a tormented sleep, ever mindful of the pair of icy blue eyes that continually fell on her slumbering form.


	10. Chapters 34-37

Chapter Thirty-Four:

 

Willow awoke slowly, her eyes blinking lethargically as she fought to make out shapes in the darkness. She registered the feeling of the hard, cool marble on her back and exhaled a bit when she finally remembered where she was.

Her eyes adjusted to the darkness swiftly, partly due to the thin rays of sunlight that peeked out from the cracks in the doorway. She pushed herself up into a sitting position, stifling a groan at the stiffness in her muscles. The leather duster that had been used as a makeshift blanket creaked as it slipped from her shoulders to settle about her waist. 

She surveyed the unnaturally quiet crypt for any sign of her reluctant savior. Her expression was decidedly puzzled when she noticed he was in the same spot he had been when she had fallen asleep the night before. 

Spike was as far away from her as he could manage, back propped up against the hard stone wall, legs stretching out before him. His arms had long since fallen to his sides and his head was tilted back, eyes closed, resting against the wall. Willow stirred a bit, shifting to get a better look at him. She had never seen someone look so…dead. He didn’t look asleep, his chest didn’t rise and fall, his mouth wasn’t parted to allow for a breath to be taken, he didn’t even move in his sleep. He was as still as the bodies that lay in that very tomb.

An involuntary shiver worked its way down her spine at her morbid observation and she shook her head, trying to shake away the disturbing thoughts. Slowly, with every effort to be as silent as humanly possible, she carefully slid off the marble slab, her feet meeting the floor with barely a sound. 

One glance at her watch told her it was well past morning and she found herself grateful for that fact. Early afternoon would most likely find Xander with the others, gathered in the school library, and not at her house. She wanted to go home. Scratch that, one look at her grass and blood stained clothing assured her that she *needed* to go home. Maybe take a hot bath, something to soothe her achy bones and calm her fevered mind. Yes, a little alone time was just what the doctor ordered.

But before she could leave, her attention came back to the soft leather still in her hands and the blonde on the floor. She bit her lip, feeling unusually indecisive. Should she wake him? Say thanks for watching out for her? Somehow she was sure he wouldn’t take it very well. After all, it isn’t a very demony thing to do, saving a girl’s life. 

In the end she settled on walking over to his slumbering form and carefully draping the duster over him, hoping in vain to warm his eternally chilled skin. With one last awkward glance she frowned and headed for the door, opening it with much care to make sure the stray rays of sunlight didn’t scorch the sleeping vampire. Soon enough she slipped out into the relative safety of the afternoon sun and away from one of the most confusing vampires she had ever met.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Her house key slid easily into the lock on her front door, the deadbolt releasing and allowing her entrance. Willow made her way inside, limping ever so slightly. Her ankle was still bothering her, no doubt aggravated in part from her walk home just then. Her leg hurt, her ribs were sore, and she really wasn’t looking forward to see how her face had fared. If Spike’s predictions had been correct, her face would be an unattractive mixture of black and blue.

She walked to the stairs, her steps slow and calculated. She was trying to make this whole thing as painless as possible. She had survived much worse injuries before, but add her wounds to her physical fatigue and it made for quite the unbearable day. 

Wasting no time in her bedroom, she grabbed a pair of jeans and loose white peasant blouse and went into her bathroom. She bypassed the mirror and instead turned the knobs at the edge of the bathtub, filling it will ever warming water. Soon enough steam began to rise and satisfied that it was sufficiently warm she finally let her curiosity get the better of her.

The walk to the mirror wasn’t far, only maybe two or three steps. She stood in front of it, hands braced on the edge of the sink to help shift some of her weight off her ankle. She gazed at her reflection with resignation and tinge of sadness. Spike had been right.

The green of her eye was barely visible in her right eye, the skin so swollen and bruised that if left her almost squinting. Her cheek was pretty sore, but the bruising wasn’t too bad, neither was the cut above her eye. But the fat lip she was sporting certainly stood out. For some reason the redhead couldn’t resist a small laugh at herself. She looked like she had been in a bar fight. 

Seeing that the bath water had reached the height she desired, she swiftly turned off the flow of water. Minding her sore ribs, she undressed stiffly and sank into the welcoming warmth, closing her eyes with a sigh as her head came to rest on the cool rim of the tub, her tense muscles relaxing as they began to soak.

She was forced from her peaceful distraction when she noticed the skin of her hands beginning to shrivel. With a heavy sigh she stood slowly, pulling the plug on the drain and watched sadly as the water swirled and disappeared. Dressing was much easier than undressing it turned out. The jeans were easy enough to get into, and because the blouse she had chosen was made of a light gauzy fabric it had been a synch to slip over her head and over her aching torso.

Not in the mood to bother with drying her hair, she moved to mirror once more, deciding to simply pull it back into a ponytail and be done with it. Her appearance may not have changed that much since she had first arrived, but still she smiled slightly at her reflection. She felt much more relaxed and refreshed, and for that she was grateful.

Shuffling out of the now humid bathroom, steam billowing out into the hall when she opened the door, she spied her half open bedroom door and frowned. She had been so sure that she had closed that when she had left. 

Giving the door one good shove, it swung open as she leaned against the doorframe for a little extra support, any sense of calm leaving her when she saw a familiar form seated on the foot of her bed, looking up at her plaintively.

“Xander,” she acknowledged tonelessly, all the anger, hurt, and frustration she had pushed back resurfacing abruptly.

“Will,” he sighed, his breath catching at the sight of her and her injuries. He jumped up from his spot on her bed, on his feet instantly and taking a step forward, only stopping at the look of unease on her face. She didn’t want him near her he realized and he couldn’t help but feel despair at that. “God Willow, what happened to you?”

“It’s no big deal,” she shrugged as impassively as she could, her chin falling to her chest. 

“No big deal–” he stammered, reaching out a hand toward her instinctively before letting it drop, knowing his touch wouldn’t be welcome. Unsure what to do with himself; he stuffed his hands in the pockets of his baggy jeans as his gaze fell to the floor. “You’re hurt.”

“It looks worse than it is,” she assured him, her voice softening to that almost motherly tone she reserved just for him.

“How did…” he trailed off, unsure how to form his question. He was too emotional to think straight. He wanted nothing more than to go to her, to take her in his arms and comfort her, soothe her hurts, and then kill whoever hurt her. It would be the proper best friend thing to do. But she didn’t want him touching her, she didn’t even want to speak to him, and that thought hurt like a physical wound.

“A couple of demons,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in the doorway, “thought they had some information on the First that I could convince them to share. They weren’t very receptive,” she smirked humorlessly.

“What were you doing going alone?” Xander asked incredulously. “You should have let one of us come with you. I would have gone with you.”

“I know,” she agreed with a bow of her head, “I didn’t want you there.”

Xander winced. Now *that* hurt. She didn’t want him there. She didn’t want him at her side, watching her back. He didn’t think that inexplicable pain in his chest could get worse, but hearing her utter those words so casually, without emotion, proved him wrong.

“You’re mad at me,” he said, looking up at her once more. His brown eyes were pleading with her to understand, but she wasn’t sure she was truly ready to forgive and forget, not yet. He fought the urge to move another step closer to her, but remained rooted to his spot on the floor.

“You’re mad at me,” he repeated, more firmly this time. “I get it. And I don’t blame you. I should have at least told you what I was going to do before I did it, but getting in a fight with some demons isn’t the answer Wills. You could have been killed and why? Because you’re angry with me?”

“I’m not ‘mad’, Xander,” she countered, green eyes shining with pain.

“You’re right,” he interrupted. “You’re hurt. And you are always reckless when you’re hurting.”

“Excuse me?” she hissed, eyes narrowing as he stood a bit straighter.

“You’re reckless,” he stated, his earlier worry shifting into a hint of anger. “When Oz left, you were hurting, and you got reckless. You remember that whole ‘my will’ spell, right? Like any of us could forget it.” He ignored the pain in her eyes. He had a point to make and he needed her to listen to him. 

“And then after you brought Buffy back,” he continued, “and everyone wanted you to cut back on the magic, you were hurt. And you almost got Dawn killed when you took her with you to see Rack, because you were reckless. And then–” he paused, having to swallow the lump that had begun to rise in his throat, “then, you were hurting so badly when Warren shot Tara–”

“Shut up.” The order was growled out of clenched teeth and Xander stopped mostly out of surprise.

“Willow,” he sighed, voice noticeably softer, “I didn’t mean–”

“Don’t bring her up,” the witch warned him in a low voice. “You have no right.”

“I’m not–I,” he stammered. “God I’m screwing this up,” he muttered to himself. “I’m just trying to make you see. You’re hurting right now but isolating yourself isn’t the solution. You’re not the only one dealing with this. They’re angry at me too, you know.” 

“You brought this on yourself,” she retorted, voice thick with emotion. “You were the one who decided to tell them everything. I don’t care how you’re ‘dealing’ with this. You’re the one responsible for this *entire* situation in the first place!”

“You want to put all the blame on me?” he countered softly, sadly. “That’s fine. You’re right. Coming back here was my idea. But you were with me every step of the way, Wills. I’m just trying to get you to see that you’re not alone in this. Buffy, Angel, they’re here and they are willing to help. And yes, things are bad but…you have to give them a chance.”

Xander took a step forward, knowing the move was unwise but unable to care. Willow’s jaw clenched at his approach and her stance stiffened.

“We used to be amazing together,” he sighed wistfully. “The Scooby Gang. We were a well oiled machine, you remember? We…things aren’t the same, but maybe, just maybe, they could be.”

“Things can’t be the same, Xander,” she said in a cool tone. “We aren’t the same, neither are they. The trust that was there before is gone. We have secrets they know nothing of. And you think they aren’t keeping secrets from us?” she snorted cynically. 

“So that’s it? You’re throwing in the towel?” he asked with a hard, challenging stare. 

“No,” she countered with a glare.

“Why won’t you just give us a chance?” he pleaded with desperate eyes. “We can beat the First, I know we can. But we need to work together, don’t you see that?” A tense silence filled the room, the redhead unwilling to budge and the brunette at a momentary loss of words. Xander’s shoulders slumped, his head bowing. “Can you…just come with me? Just come to the library with me, just this once. You’ll see; they’re on our side. They really are Wills. Just give them a chance. Give us another chance to work like a team.”

He could see her resolve wavering under his persistence so he remained perfectly still, his eyes boring into hers with intensity. “Please…” he murmured, a breathy whisper. 

Her jaw tightened and he absently wondered if her teeth were cracking under the pressure. Her eyes fell shut and she sighed audibly, her body slackening a bit. “One chance,” she muttered unhappily. “You get one chance.”

Xander nearly collapsed from the weight of his relief and he granted her a grateful smile. “That’s all I need,” he swore to her. Slowly, almost unsure, he extended his hand, waiting for her to take his silent offer of thanks and friendship.

After a beat she slipped her slightly clammy hand in his in a loose grip and he squeezed her hand tightly, smiling brightly. It wasn’t forgiveness, but it was something, and that made him happier than he had been all day.

“Let’s go…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The knot in Willow’s stomach got tighter and tighter as she approached the library. She didn’t want to be there, didn’t want to be around Angel’s accusing stares or Buffy’s pained glances. But Xander had practically begged her to come with him and even as furious as she was with him, she had rarely been able to refuse him anything. She would try this once to do what he asked, just come and give them a chance to work together again. And a small part of her that wasn’t consumed with anger or hurt hoped that things would work out between them. This was a fight that couldn’t be won alone, and the reasonable part of her knew that.

She trailed after Xander with reluctant steps. Soon enough he was pushing open the double doors and walking in, his pace slowed as he waited for her to catch.

“Hello all,” Xander greeted the trio inside with a grim smile, not nearly as genuine as usual. “Look who I brought,” he added, stepping to the side to make sure that everyone got a look at Willow.

Willow watched their reactions to her appearance closely. Giles had glanced up from his book in mild acknowledgement only to do a quick double take when he spied her injuries. But being the proper British man he was raised to be, he remained silent, only nodding in her direction and returning his attention to the tome in his hands. 

Buffy didn’t look that thrilled to see her. There was no real anger on the Slayer’s face, but it was obvious that the blonde had been hurt by their deception. Her eyes widened when she caught sight of the bruises across the redhead’s face and she opened her mouth as if to say something before thinking twice and picking up her dropped jaw, staying surprisingly silent.

Angel was hovering by the edge of the table in the center of the room, covered in shadow. The library’s curtains had been kept shut to keep out the afternoon sun. His eyes had been glued to the doors the minute he had heard a heartbeat, then two. Seeing Xander was no surprise, and in a way he wasn’t amazed that the boy had convinced Willow to join him despite her fury towards him. But he hadn’t expected to see the little witch walk through those doors with a sullen step, face black and blue. He raised a brow and cocked his head to the side in curiosity.

Xander cleared his throat awkwardly and latched a hand around Willow’s arm, dragging her behind him and further into the room. He fell into a seat beside Buffy while the redhead took the farthest seat away from the group, sitting gingerly. 

“Any progress?” the younger brunette asked, desperate to get some sort of conversation started and get the attention off Willow.

The annoyed and frustrated sigh that Buffy expelled was all the answer he needed. Shrugging to himself, he glanced at Willow and gestured toward the monstrous pile of books in front of her. “Might as well crack open a book there, Wills. It’s research time.” The awkward, goofy grin he sent her way did little to calm her nerves and she hastily grabbed a heavy book, quickly becoming engrossed.

Xander’s smile fell when she barely acknowledged him and he sighed internally, grabbing a book of his own and settling in for a long afternoon.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“I’m afraid this isn’t working,” Giles muttered in utter irritation as he took off his glasses, polishing them furiously. 

Night had fallen and yet there they all were, still sitting in the library, noses buried in old, musty books.

“There’s nothing in any of these,” Buffy huffed, shoving her book away from her angrily. “They barely mention the First. ‘Big evil…non-corporeal…unstoppable’, blah, blah, blah. This isn’t getting us anywhere.”

Willow sat back in her chair, just listening to their slight bickering. She had no desire to add her two cents, at least not then. Everyone was tired and aggravated by their lack of progress, interrupting them wouldn’t have been a good idea.

“We need to mobilize,” Buffy declared with a stern expression, looking to Angel for backup. “Sitting around here isn’t going to get it done. We need answers.”

“And what do you suggest, Buffy?” Giles sighed with a roll of his eyes.

“Bringers,” she announced with a firm nod, sharing a glance with the lone vampire across the room. Willow’s eyes narrowed. It was obvious those two had been collaborating.

The watcher perked up in interest and he slipped his spectacles back on. “Go on,” he prompted. 

“Reading isn’t going to get the job done,” Angel picked up for her. “We need inside information.”

“And who’s closer to the First and its right-hand man than the bringers?” Buffy finished with an eager expression. “If we grab one, maybe–”

“That won’t work.”

All eyes turned on the redhead at her declaration. Her voice was hollow, unemotional and Buffy frowned at the witch. Angel crossed his arms over his chest and Giles glanced at her in exasperation.

“Why not?” the blonde asked, slightly defensive.

“Bringers won’t talk,” Willow informed them impassively. “I agree, research isn’t going to work, but a bringer isn’t the answer. Find another way.”

“Doesn’t seem like your way worked very well,” Angel commented offhandedly, eyeing the marks and cuts on her face. “I assume that’s how you got hurt, right? Maybe trying to…weasel some answers out of a couple demons?” 

Willow had to bite her tongue to remain silent and Angel nodded to himself in confirmation. 

“What was your plan, Buffy?” Giles pressed, ignoring Willow for the moment.

“I figure we draw them out, we fight, I grab one,” she shrugged. “It might take some–convincing, but I can make him talk. Eventually.”

“I’m telling you–” Willow started, but was quickly cut off.

“It sounds plausible,” Giles agreed, face drawn. 

“You can do all the ‘convincing’ you want,” the witch interrupted harshly, her anger at being completely disregarded growing. “They won’t tell you a thing. They’re loyal, too loyal. You won’t get any answers; you’ll just be wasting your time.” 

They didn’t even look at her, Willow couldn’t believe it. Buffy and Angel were looking at the floor, studiously ignoring her protests, and Giles’ head was bent, fingers pinching the bridge of his nose. She turned to Xander, the only ally she truly thought she had.

“Come on Xand,” she tried again. “You know I’m right.” When he turned away from her, something inside her just broke.

“It’s the only plan we have,” Xander admitted gravely. “It’s worth a try.” 

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she groaned. “Giles,” she tried to reason with the watcher, “trust me, this won’t work. You need a new plan. Any new plan.”

“Trust you?” came the murmured response from the Slayer. Willow was standing now, and she turned her attention to the blonde who was nearly hunched over herself. “How can we trust you?” she whispered sadly. “You’ve been lying to us this whole time. I–” Buffy stopped herself mid sentence, not wanting to get into that right now. They needed to find a way to defeat the First, then they could hash this out. “By a count of hands,” she announced, sounding a little more confident and put together, “who’s with me? We grab a bringer?” 

Willow stubbornly crossed her arms over her chest and took a step back to get a better look at the entire group. Buffy had raised her hand, as did Angel, which was no real surprise. Giles seemed to consider his options for a second before tentatively raising his hand as well. There was no point in turning to Xander, she had already been out voted, but she couldn’t stop herself from glancing at her best friend. His head was hanging shamefully, not looking at her at all, before his hand slowly, hesitantly left his side to rise in the air. 

The redhead sniffed and shook her head in utter disappointment and dismay. “That’s it then,” she nodded, her stomach twisting painfully. “I’ve gotta get out of here,” she mumbled to herself, turning stiffly on her heel and heading for the door.

“Will–” Xander called out from behind her, frantic. 

“Don’t waste your breath,” she muttered with a backward glance.

Xander stared forlornly at the now swinging double doors of the library, Willow now gone from his sight. She had given them one chance, he commiserated miserably, and they had blown it. He had blown it. More than that, he had let her down…again.

The tense, awkward silence was broken by Giles’ uncomfortable cough. “Uh,” the Englishman started, “I suggest we get working on a plan. We need to act soon.”

Buffy nodded in agreement, trying to ignore the stinging pain in her heart, “Yeah, so here’s what I was thinking…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow ignored her surroundings, not worried for a second about vampires and the like. She was too angry, too–she just felt too much. Disappoint, sadness, anger, exhaustion, frustration, she was teaming with all that and more. 

She walked with purpose, in the back of her mind she acknowledged that, yes, she had a destination in mind, but her conscious mind paid it no attention. She just needed to be far, far away from them all. 

The vaguely familiar crypt loomed in front of her threateningly amongst the shadows. She bit her lip and wrapped her arms tighter around her middle. She didn’t know what she was doing here. But in a way it was the perfect place to go. No one knew about it, aside from her and Spike since they had only stumbled on it the night before. She wouldn’t run into anyone she knew here, and it was secluded. She was not in the mood to be surrounded by people right then. She was in the mood to wallow, maybe do a little brooding in between. Moping was on the agenda for the night.

Taking a deep breath she pushed the heavy door open and stepped slowly inside, the stone walls and floors cast in a hazy blue from the moonlight. She took one step forward, then another, before a shuffling caught her ear and she spun around, squinting into the darkness.

“What you doing ‘ere?” came a gruff voice. Willow let out a breath she hadn’t realized she had been holding in when Spike stepped out of the inky blackness and into the muted light. He looked a little haggard, a little worn out. His duster was wrapped tightly about his, so much so that it was difficult to distinguish his form in the dark. And his eyes were boring into her intently.

“What are you doing here?” she asked incredulously. “I would’ve thought you’d have left the minute the sun went down.”

The bleached blonde shrugged, unwilling to admit that he had remained here since he had awakened, lost in thought and confusion. “Was getting there…” 

Spike’s eyes narrowed and he pursed his lips. She was radiating tension, her anger was almost palpable. Her eyes were glassy and she was hugging herself for dear life. What the hell had happened? “Red, you hurt?”

The redhead looked confused for a minute before realizing what he was asking, seeing that he was visually checking her for any additional injuries. “No,” she answered abruptly. “No, I’m–fine.”

“Very convincing,” he smirked as he watched her move to the standing tomb in the center of the mausoleum, hopping up onto to it uneasily. “Now tell me what happened,” it was more of and order than a request and she knew it. This was yet another time he had come upon her when she wasn’t in the best state of mind and she knew he was growing tired of her evasive answers.

“Spike, just go…” she sighed, her fingers coming up to rub her aching temples. “You’ve got to be hungry or something…”

He glowered at her dismissal and took a step forward. “This is getting old, pet,” he nearly growled.

“Listen,” she groused, “I’m a little…emotional, and it’s complicated. You don’t want anything to do with that,” she assured him. “It’s a long story.”

“And I’ve got all the time in the world,” he reminded her with a raised brow. Willow shifted uncomfortably under his watchful eye as he pinned her in her seat with his icy stare. “Start talking.”

Willow heaved a heavy sigh and looked heavenward. This was going to be a long night… 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Five:

 

“The First.” 

Willow watched Spike carefully, the hollow, cold tone of his voice worrying her. She knew he wouldn’t take this well, and in a way she couldn’t blame him. He thought she had been completely honest with him and the whole time she was hiding this big secret. One that could get them all killed. She’d be pissed too if she were in his position. Unfortunately this put her in a precarious position. After all, an angry but chipped Spike was scary, a furious unchipped Spike? Well, that was down right terrifying.

“Yeah,” she acknowledged softly, flinching a bit under his hard gaze.

“That’s the little problem you’ve been having?” he spat through clenched teeth.

“Well, you know, it’s really been a combination of things,” she attempted to placate him. It didn’t work.

“The sodding *First Evil* is back and you bloody well didn’t tell me!” Spike seethed, watching in slight satisfaction as she cringed and unconsciously took a step away from him. Normally, she was the only human he wouldn’t want to back away from him in fear. He liked her angry, fiery. But right now he was too pissed and her reaction only pleased him. She deserved a little dose of fear right about now; it might come close to what he was feeling at the moment.

“It’s not my job to tell you everything!” she retorted, her earlier anger returning. She was sick of being lectured and judged. If there was one person she didn’t want to hear it from, it was Spike. “Or did you just happen to forget that we don’t play for the same team?”

The vampire’s jaw clenched, silently fuming. “Funny thing that, love,” he smirked humorlessly. “Last time I checked, I was the closest bleeding thing you had to call a friend.”

“You’re not my friend,” she said, low and serious. “*We* aren’t friends. This whole thing between us, the whole talking thing, is only because I felt guilty for screwing up your past, okay? I felt bad; I thought you deserved to know the truth. But if you think that I feel anything more toward you than--than pity, you’re dead wrong.”

“What about the whole kissing thing, pet?” he remarked, tone soft, both demanding and dangerously seductive. “You feel bad about that, too?”

“That was all you,” the redhead brushed off, face flushed. “I didn’t jump you. You *jumped* me. I *never* wanted to kiss you,” she rambled, more than a little embarrassed. The last thing she wanted to think about was their little episode outside Willy’s. “I was upset and not thinking straight--”

“Not thinking, hmm?” he interrupted with a derisive snort, “That I can believe. Seem to be doing that a lot lately.”

“--And you took advantage of me,” she finished with a glare.

“Oh please,” Spike sneered contemptuously. “I never took advantage of you, you daft bint. If I remember correctly you were right there with me, participating enthusiastically. Don’t blame me if you had a sudden bout of regret afterward.”

“Why are we even talking about this?” Willow sighed in exasperation. “This isn’t about you, or me, or that mistake a few nights ago. This is about the First.”

“Yeah,” he agreed with a pitiless smirk, “bang up job you’ve done on that front, Red.”

“Shut up,” she growled, rather pathetically. The fight was beginning to leave her, leaving her feeling drained and just so damn tired. It seemed like all she ever did lately was fight, with her friends, with Spike, and it was taking its toll on her. “Who are you to judge me?” 

“You couldn’t have buggered up this situation more if you tried,” the blonde told her bluntly. Needing to expel some excess energy, Spike began pacing the crypt restlessly as Willow’s eyes followed him warily. The witch slid on top of the tomb, her legs tired and in need of rest.

“There’s a big, bad evil after you. The biggest and the baddest,” he shook his head, “and you’ve managed to alienate everyone that can help you. How the hell do plan on bloody surviving on your own? ‘Cause I got to tell you love, the First will eat you for breakfast.”

“I can figure out something,” she murmured sullenly. “I’ve got power and--”

“Power doesn’t mean a damn thing, pet,” he jumped in abruptly. “There’s only one of you. You honestly think that one sodding witch is going to do a lot of damage to the First? You can’t kill it, Willow,” he said gravely, his expression utterly beseeching.

“You can’t banish it,” he continued, trying desperately to make her see reason. “You’d barely make a dent in it.”

“I did last time,” she argued halfheartedly. “I called all the slayers. I called all of them to power.”

“Can you do that again, ‘cause I’m thinking no,” Spike demanded. 

“If the scythe is still here,” Willow thought out loud.

“Say you found the scythe,” he said, ending his relentless pacing and standing directly in front of her, blue eyes looking down into green. “Say you find it, then what? The First probably already knows where it is, so most likely it’s gone. And if it is there, what? You gonna call all the slayers again? How will that help?”

“We could make our own army,” she replied, “like last time. Giles and Buffy could help train them and--”

“Nobody’s here, Will,” he interrupted her with that harsh reminder. “Last time, you said the potentials, that’s what you called ‘em, they came to you. They’re not here. And they’re not coming. You do that spell and you’ll have chaos. The world would be filled with a bunch of chits who have no sense of their power and you still wouldn’t have any backup here.” 

“What do you expect me to do?” she asked desperately, her eyes beginning to tear up from a combination of frustration and exhaustion. “I can’t just do nothing.”

“You can’t do this by yourself,” he sighed, taking a step closer to her and resting the palms of his hands on the lid of the tomb, one on each side of her. He was looking down at her bent head, her red hair curtaining her face as she breathed stiltedly. 

“The way I see it,” he murmured, maneuvering so she had to look him in the eye, “you have two choices. You either suck it up and go back to those do-gooders you call friends…”

“Or?” she breathed, curious despite herself. 

“Or you and I, we make a deal, a truce.” The shock that crossed her face wasn’t a real surprise. He leaned back a bit, just to give her a little more space, and waited.

“What? Why would *you* want to help me?” If he were anyone else he would have been offended by her obvious suspicion and disbelief. But she had been right earlier, they didn’t play for the same team, he was evil and despite her dark past she still beamed goodness. 

“Well love, I may be the Big Bad, but I don’t really have a desire to see this world go to hell,” he informed her with a sarcastic tone. “Truth is I like this world. Its fun.” 

“Its fun? That’s the best you can do?” she asked incredulously. 

“You want a better reason?” he asked softly. His voice was low, both filled with warning and something more, hesitation, even anxiousness. She looked up at him, seeing the real question in his eyes. Did she want a better reason?

Willow nodded tentatively and Spike exhaled sharply, his gaze never leaving hers.

“You,” he said simply. “You’re crazy enough to go after the First on your own, we both know that. And I don’t know if you have a bloody death wish or not, but I’m not gonna let you fight this on your own. You need help and if you’re not going to make up with those gits, then you’re stuck with me.”

“Why do you care what happens to me?” she wondered, honestly confused. Spike sighed at the perplexed look on her pretty face. Of course she would make this harder.

“What can I say?” he mumbled a little self-consciously. “You…amuse me.”

“Oh,” she murmured, a small frown on her lips. 

Rolling his eyes, in no mood for any of this crap about his feelings, Spike pinned her once more with his icy blue eyes. “What’s it gonna be, Red? The Slayer or me?”

“They don’t listen to me,” she said, more to herself than him, “I try to help and they ignore me. Even Xander won’t listen…”

“Who’s it going to be?” he demanded, more tersely than before.

She studied his eyes, biting her lip and fidgeting. If it was a question of whom she was more comfortable working with, Buffy and the gang would win hands down. But then again, everyone in their little group was on edge. Buffy and Angel were in the ‘off again’ phase of their on again, off again relationship. Buffy, Angel, and Giles were hurt and naturally distrustful of both she and Xander since their deception had been revealed. They all worked together, but it was awkward, filled with uneasy silences. They weren’t the close-knit group of friends they used to be. 

And then there was Spike. She had every reason not to trust him. He was a vampire, made no bones about it. He was a killer. He didn’t have a soul like Angel and had no desire for one. He hated her friends, especially Buffy and Angel, with a fiery passion and wouldn’t shed a tear if they all turned up dead the next day. Well, for anyone but her it would appear.

She didn’t buy his ‘you amuse me’ response to her earlier question. She didn’t know what his feelings were toward her, if he had any in the first place, and she wasn’t about to guess. But he did seem sincere. He didn’t want to see this world go to hell in a hand basket. He didn’t want to see her die.

Why it surprised her she wasn’t sure. Spike was never your typical creature of the night. He was full of feeling, emotion, and there was so much of his former human self that still remained with him. He had helped save the world even before he was souled, or even chipped for that matter. Angelus had been on the loose, about to awaken Acathla and send the world spiraling into some insane hell dimension. And Spike stopped him.

Not only did he stop him, he worked with Buffy to do it. Sure he had his reasons. He loathed Angelus and was eager to be rid of him. He wanted to get Drusilla away from her sire’s grasp. And maybe he was being truthful, maybe he really didn’t want the world to change. But still, he had proven himself trustworthy. Well, almost trustworthy, for a vampire. 

But could she trust him? 

“I…” she stumbled with her words, frowning. “I…need you.” He moved in a little closer to her, silently relieved that she chose him, and Willow blinked uncomfortably. “I need your help.”

“Then you’ve got it, love,” he murmured, a tiny, hesitant smirk on the edge of his lips. “Just…” he said with a drawn out sigh. His hand left its place on the lid of the tomb she was sitting on, finding its way into her hair, his fingers slipping through the red strands in an almost calming, comforting gesture. “Just tell me what to do, what we need to do.”

The witch found herself unconsciously leaning into his touch and when she realized what she had been doing she sat up straighter and pulled away from him. She saw that familiar tic in his jaw appear but he didn’t say anything, instead letting his hand fall away and taking a step back to give her some space. 

“We, uh, we need to find whoever’s doing the First’s dirty work,” she decided with a firm nod, her resolve face taking form. “You know, since the First is non-corporeal, there’s got to be someone pulling the strings. Giving orders to the bringers, working magic, the works. If we can find them, then it’s a start.”

As quickly as her determination appeared, it faded, her shoulders slumping. “But I have no clue where to start. Last time Caleb was in charge, but he found us, we didn’t find him. Not at first at least. And with my luck he’s not even the one this time around.”

“Chin up and all that, Red,” Spike did his best to cheer her up. It didn’t work all that well, but then again he didn’t expect it to. He wasn’t any good at comforting chits. Usually he was the one terrorizing them. “We need answers, so we’ll go get them.”

“You make it sound so simple,” she sniffed, shaking her head. “When Buffy wants information, she just goes and pummels Willy until he talks. I can’t do that, makes my hand hurt. I’m just too damn tired to pull out the mojo. Plus, most of the time, people don’t find me very threatening.”

The grin on Spike’s face was feral and Willow watched him guardedly. He looked up at her, flashing a hint of fang. “That’s what I’m here for.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willy was having a pretty good night. Business was going well, he had a steady flow of customers and there was a decent amount of money in his cash register. At the moment there were only a couple of vampires and a Fungus demon drinking and playing pool, the jukebox playing in the background.

He grabbed a crumpled up rag and began to wipe down the bar, humming to himself in that nasally tone only he didn’t mind. Hearing the door in the front open, he glanced up and his thin, weasel-like grin slipped from his face entirely. He swallowed deeply and gripped the rag in his hands tightly, so their shaking wasn’t visible. There went his good night.

“Spike, buddy, howya doin’?” he greeted the bleached blonde with a greasy smile, standing up straight and paying little attention to the redhead that he remembered to be the slayer’s friend at his side. Why Spike was messing around with the little witch was none of his business.

“Red here needs you to answer a question,” Spike said, a deep, warning growl accompanying his declaration, practically daring Willy to defy him. And of course Willy took the bait.

“Ah, sorry kid,” the bartender said with a glance toward Willow who was looking at him with unimpressed eyes. “I’d like to help, but I can’t really be seen chit-chatting with a friend of the slayer’s, you know. It’s not good for business.”

“I was hoping you would say that,” Spike smirked. Willy barely had time to swallow convulsively before the blonde’s hands shot out from his side to grip his collar, hands dangerously close to the man’s neck. He lifted the small brunette up halfway over the bar, Willy squeaking in surprise as Spike leaned in close, game face prominent.

“Now, you bloody prat,” he hissed, ignoring the audience they were gathering, “you’re going to tell us what we want to know and I won’t drape your entrails across this entire sodding hole. And I’m itching for a good spot of violence, so please, try me.”

“Okay! Okay!” he squealed, voice quivering in fear. Satisfied, Spike tossed him away and the shorter man slammed into the back of the bar with a groan. “Okay, what do ya want to know?” he wheezed. 

Spike glanced at the redhead beside him and smirked and even Willow couldn’t hide the small grin on her face. She had to admit, Spike’s technique definitely garnered results. She was hesitantly impressed.

“The First,” Willow began, voice low enough so as not to draw attention. “Since it’s non-corporeal, someone else is pulling the strings. Who is it?”

“Kid, honestly, they don’t let that kind of information get around. They don’t trust me.” Willow glared at him with a look that just said ‘duh’. “I can’t help ya.” 

Spike didn’t even wait a beat. With one hand on the top of the bar, he levered himself over it and landed right in front of the cringing bartender. His hand darted out, wrapping tightly around his throat and squeezing, just enough to cut off most of his air supply, but not enough to cause him to lose consciousness.

“You wanna try again?” he snarled in his ear, squeezing warningly. 

“All right!” he rasped, hand clawing at Spike’s. The vampire shoved him back with such force that he slammed into the liquor display on the counter behind, breaking glass and coercing a grunt from the small man.

“All right,” he panted, hand massaging his neck. “All I’ve got is a name. I don’t know if it’s the guy you’re looking for, but it’s all I’ve got,” he said, desperation coating his voice.

“Who?” Spike growled, growing tired of this game. Willow stepped up closer to the edge of the bar, a little eager and a little anxious to hear.

“Eth--” Willy hissed, swallowing painfully, “Ethan Rayne…” 

 

 

Chapter Thirty-Six:

 

“So…” Buffy’s slow drawl cut the tense silence of the library. Everyone had been alternately standing and sitting, too stunned to move into action. Well, maybe stunned wasn’t the right word, she admitted to herself with an inward sigh. More like they were feeling both a little guilty and unsure of what to do. Willow had just left and showed no sign of coming back anytime soon and now they were left to suck it up and come up with a plan. But at the moment wallowing seemed to be the thing to do. And Xander looked absolutely devastated. It was understandable. There was no one closer to Willow than Xander, and to see her turn away from them, to feel like he was responsible for it, was killing him.

But they didn’t have the time for this. It may sound callous or cold, but it was the truth. Buffy didn’t want to just move on and forget the situation with Willow; they were still friends no matter the lies and secrets. But she was the Slayer and she had priorities. The First was on the loose and it was her job to rein it in, to save the day. Sometimes it sucked to be the leader.

“So,” Giles stammered, removing his glasses in a familiar move and polishing them furiously. “We need to come up with a plan.”

“We find a bringer and make him talk,” Buffy said resolutely, with an apologetic glance towards Xander. She knew he wanted nothing more than to run out that door and find Wills, but still he remained and she was thankful for his help. “Sounds simple enough.”

“Um, we’re going to need to find a way to get them to talk,” Xander offered softly. 

“Oh don’t worry,” Buffy looked grim as she curled her fist into a ball. “I have my ways.” Angel smirked at her not so veiled threat.

“No,” Xander interrupted with a shake of his head, choosing to now pace the room restlessly. “I mean literally find a way for them to talk. These guys are sort of--sans tongue,” he told them with a squeamish frown.

“They have no tongues?” the Slayer repeated, officially grossed out by this information.

“The First probably had them cut out when they joined,” Angel mused, taking a step closer to the group of three standing in the middle of the library. “Makes sense, no one can leak any information to the wrong people if they can’t speak.”

“There should be a spell,” Giles muttered, hand to his temple. “A--A modified version of telepathy I suppose?”

“So here’s the plan,” Buffy said, voice firm but a little indecisive as she glanced to Angel for silent reassurance, “we patrol, snag a bringer, which shouldn’t be hard since they’re gunning for us, and bring him--bring him where Giles?” she looked beseechingly at her Watcher. “We can’t bring him here, there’s still school. I think Principal Snyder would notice an eyeless, tongue-less man in the book cage.”

“Ah, yes,” he stuttered a bit, looking a bit sheepish, “we can bring him to my house, I suppose. It’s not like he will make a lot of noise.”

“Point taken,” Buffy grinned weakly. “So we ready?” she asked, looking around at all the different faces in the room.

“Ready,” Angel said lowly, stepping to her side.

“As I’ll ever be,” Xander chimed in quietly, joining the twosome and standing at Buffy’s side.

“Go,” Giles advised, absently scanning the shelves behind the counter for a particular book, “I will give Ms. Calendar a call, see if she has anything that can help with finding a spell. I’ll meet you at my house. Do you know where…?”

“I’ve got it,” Xander interrupted. He remembered how to get to Giles’ very well, but the others had yet to spend any time there. Just another reminder that things weren’t the same. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

For the first time in quite awhile, or at least as long as Buffy remembered, patrol was done in near silence. Angel was stalking the cemeteries, eyes focused and lips pressed into a thin line. Xander stayed at her side, eyes alternately staring ahead and then back down at the ground. As for herself, she spent most of her time surveying the grounds and glancing at her companions. She hated long silences.

Xander sighed as they kept walking. So far they had been patrolling for almost two hours and had been to four cemeteries without a single sign of a bringer. Sure, there had been a couple vamps, which Buffy and Angel easily dispatched, but that had been about it.

The quiet caused his mind to wander. He wondered what Willow was doing. If she was sitting at home, curled up on her bed and feeling betrayed. If she was doing much like they were and patrolling for any clues to the First’s hideout. He just wanted to know that she was okay, wanted to know where she was. He wanted her not to be mad at him. But that was all wishful thinking.

Angel wasn’t concerned with much other than finding what they were after. While Xander appeared to be utterly devastated and Buffy seemed at a loss for what to do to make it better, he remained as cool and calm as always. It wasn’t that he was unconcerned about Willow. Admittedly they weren’t close, he had always been distrustful of both the redhead and her best friend, but he wasn’t heartless. She was dealing with something, something more than she told anyone including Xander, and was floundering under the weight of it. If he knew there was something he could do to help, he would. But as it was, he was clueless as how to help. So he resolved himself to find a bringer, to banish the First for good, and then maybe their small group could work on healing the deep wounds they shared.

Buffy spared the two men beside her one last glance before huffing in mild frustration and stepping out in front of both of them, stopping them in their tracks. Angel and Xander looked up at her questioningly and she rolled her eyes.

“Okay, this is getting old,” she muttered, arms crossed over her chest. “Guys, I know things are bad, but enough with the silent treatment. This whole patrol has been pointless,” she complained. “Nobody’s out tonight. Even vamps are staying inside, who knows why. There are no bringers--”

Her words were cut off by a balled fist slamming into the side of her face. Angel sprang into action the second he noticed the group of four eyeless men, each brandishing short swords, descending on them. He moved a second too late to stop the fist aimed at the Slayer’s face.

Xander had a moment to gather his bearings as one bringer swung at Buffy and two others jumped Angel before the last one came barreling his way. Settling into a quick fighting stance he barely ducked a hurried punch and jumped out of the way of a swipe of the man’s knife. Armed with only a short crossbow, he knew there was little he could do than just keep out of his way until either Angel or Buffy could make with a rescue.

Grunts and groans filled the air as they were separately subjected to beatings. Buffy managed to break the neck of the one stabbing at her before moving to Angel’s aid and throwing one of the two bringers off his back and slamming her foot harshly into the bringer’s throat, crushing it under her weight. With a grimace she turned back to see Angel finally taking down his attacker and Xander doing his best to avoid a run in with a bringer’s dagger.

Running as fast she could, she kicked the bringer squarely in the back, sending his stumbling forward awkwardly slamming her fist to the back of his head, seeing the bringer fall uselessly to the ground.

“Thanks for the save,” Xander sighed gratefully and she smiled before glancing behind her, searching for Angel.

The vampire had the last of the robed men thrown over his shoulder, not moving. “He’s alive,” Angel muttered gruffly, a thin line of blood trickling from his split lip. “Do you have the rope?” he asked, looking to Xander.

The boy looked for the shoulder bag he had thrown to the side earlier and retrieved the rope and twine from it, handing it over to Angel. Dropping his purchase to the ground, Angel quickly tied him up, especially tight around the hands and ankles, before once more throwing him over his shoulder and grunting wordlessly.

“Well then,” Xander shrugged, “off to Giles’.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Knock, knock,” Xander called out as the group reached Giles’ door. Normally, one might be worried about walking down city streets carrying an unconscious body over the shoulder, but this was Sunnydale after all, town of the oblivious. They made it all the way to the Watcher’s apartment without one incident. “We come bearing blind guys.”

“Ah yes, Xander,” Giles frowned, reproaching, as he swung open his front door and stepped aside to allow them entrance. “Come on in,” he said in greeting, the invitation more for Angel’s benefit than anything else. 

Miss Calendar looked up from her spot on Giles’ couch and raised a brow at the sight that the rag tag gang made as Buffy fell into an arm chair tiredly and Angel dropped the still unconscious bringer into a dining room chair, Xander choosing to lean against Giles’ desk and watch.

The two oldest men worked to straighten out the lifeless form, removing the bindings from his ankles entirely and choosing to untie his hands before sliding them between the slats of the chair and tying them together once more at the wrist. With that done, Angel dropped the dagger that the bringer had brandished onto the table beside him and dropped onto the couch.

“We should, uh, get to work then,” Giles announced as he glanced toward Jenny. She rose from her seat and joined him by the counter of his kitchen where they had laid out any ingredients they may need. Finding the appropriate spell once more, the librarian laid the book out on the counter and began to organize the ingredients under Jenny’s watchful eye.

“Guys…” Xander called out warily as he eyed the confined bringer, “I think he’s starting to wake up…”

Indeed it did appear that their captive was waking. His feet and leg muscles twitched a bit as he began to return to consciousness, just before his head bobbed up and down. Soon enough he had woken enough to hold his head up on his own, the only real sign that they had that he was truly conscious. After all, he had no eyes so he couldn’t blink; he had no tongue he wasn’t exactly going to let out a big yawn.

“Well, well,” started Buffy as she stood sidling her way toward their captive, “wakey, wakey.” Angel gave her look, questioning her need to goad him, but she just looked on wordlessly and ignored him for the moment.

“Giles,” the Slayer said, her voice had an almost sing-song quality to it, “you almost got that spell ready?” At his silent nod she grinned, even knowing the sightless man before her couldn’t see it, and stepped closer to him. “You hear that, huh? We’ve got this nifty little spell, and it’s gonna make spill all your secrets. You’re going to tell us all about your master, and what his plan is, and there’s not a damn thing you can do about it.” She leaned in closer and smirked. “You messed with the wrong people.”

“Buffy,” Giles reproved with a little exasperation, “please refrain from taunting the hostage.” The Slayer pouted a bit and took a couple steps back.

“You’re no fun,” she muttered, not really mad. Angel grinned and draped an arm around her shoulder, pulling her a little closer.

“There will time for that later, Buffy,” the vampire assured her with a small smirk. Xander just rolled his eyes, not really in the mood for playful banter for once. He wanted answers and he wanted them now. 

“All right,” Giles declared, talking over any idle chit chat. “I think we’re about ready to begin.” All the right herbs had been gathered and placed in their appropriate order. Swiftly igniting a match, he lit a bowl of sage and turned to the book in front of him.

As he recited the words laid out before him, something in Latin that no one but himself truly knew what it meant; the bringer began to stir a bit. While Angel and Buffy murmured quietly in their own little corner, and Giles and Jenny concentrated solely on the spell, Xander watched the bringer with increasing worry. He wasn’t sure what he was doing. He wasn’t really moving all that much, just little twists and turns here and there, but it bothered him.

A loud bang and a bright flash of light distracted them all as Giles threw a handful of crushed mandrake root into the bowl, causing a mini explosion. When Xander anxiously returned his gaze to the captive, he remained unnervingly still, as if he was waiting for something. The boy glanced around the room to see if anyone seemed bothered, but no one looked concerned.

With a cough, Giles waved his hand in front of him in an attempt to dispel the cloud of smoke that lingered about from the spell. “It’s done,” he rasped as Jenny patted his back helpfully. He spared her a thankful smile before turning to Buffy and nodding.

The Slayer grinned and took a step forward, arms crossed authoritatively over chest and looking down at the tied up man with contempt. “Looks like it’s time for you to get talking--” her self-confident diatribe was cut short as the robe-clad man nearly exploded out of the chair they had tied him to, pulling with such force that his now loosely tied wrists cut right through the wooden slats of the back of the chair, leaving it in splinters.

The sharpened and now jagged wood cut through most of what was left of the rope binding his wrists and he quickly untangled himself. Not even bothering to turn away from the shocked group of onlookers, his shot out from his side to grip his forgotten dagger which had been laying on the table idly.

Surprise wearing off, Buffy and Angel both fell into identical fighting stances, preparing themselves for battle as Giles and Jenny huddled in the kitchen and Xander did his best to disappear in a corner.

But none of them were prepared for the bringer to raise his dagger threateningly and bring it down into his own chest, the wound spurting blood with a rush before he collapsed on the floor of the Watcher’s dining room in a tangle of black robes.

“What--?” Buffy mumbled, barely able to form words. “What the hell was that?!” she shrieked in utter confusion and astonishment.

“Is he…?” Jenny asked hesitantly from her place behind the counter.

“He’s dead,” Angel said darkly, eyes never leaving the fallen man. “He stabbed himself in the heart, there’s no way to revive him.”

“Holy crap,” Xander muttered, unsure of what else to say. 

“Why?” Buffy managed, eyes wide as she stared at the dead man on the floor. “Why would he just--just kill himself?”

Angel let out a low, tired chuckle as he shook his head, his countenance fallen. “The First really has them trained well,” he muttered.

“What does that mean?” Buffy demanded, turning her flustered gaze on her kind of ex-boyfriend. 

“They would rather die than betray their master,” Giles interrupted with a labored sigh. Taking off his glasses, he began to polish them furiously, too stressed to do anything else.

“I’m guessing the punishment for disloyalty is much worse than death,” Angel mused with a tactician’s eye, “It makes sense. The only way to maintain loyalty in the ranks is to have your minions fear you more than the enemy.” His little insight caused the Slayer to flinch and take an inconspicuous step away from him. When Angel got like that it just reminded her more and more of whom--what he really was. 

“Now what do we do?” Xander asked in exasperation, eyes desolate. Nothing seemed to be working out like it should be lately, this just being one in a long line of things they had screwed up horribly. “We found out nothing, we’ve got bringers offing themselves just so they don’t have talk to us, and oh yeah, there’s a dead body on the floor.” 

“Calm down,” Giles sighed with a shake of his head, looking down at the fore-mentioned body. “I do so hate getting bloodstains out of carpet,” he murmured, garnering a few raised eyebrows. 

“I can get rid of the body--again,” Angel offered with a disgruntled expression. He seemed to be ditching a lot of dead bodies these days; didn’t exactly bring back the happiest of memories. 

“Ah, yes, thank you,” Giles said with a shaky smile. “As for what we do now…” he trailed off, looking around at all the beseeching faces staring back at him, “we clean up this--mess, go home, and meet again tomorrow. We need new plans, new ideas. But for now, it’s late and there’s nothing more we can do. We’ll start fresh in the morning.” 

Angel crossed the room and levered the body over his shoulder once more, grimacing when he felt blood begin to drip down his back. With one last nod to Buffy he slipped out the apartment with a quiet born of the undead, leaving the foursome inside on their own.

“Come on Xan,” Buffy mumbled, exhausted and disheartened, “I’ll walk you home.” The brunette nodded and they offered muffled goodbyes to the two adults left. 

“Jenny--uh, Miss Calendar,” Giles corrected himself, face slightly flushed as a tiny grin crossed her face, “let me drive you home.” She nodded her acquiescence and followed out the door to his Citron. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

The walk to the Rosenberg house was made mostly in companionable silence. Both Buffy and Xander had a lot to think about. Their emotions nearly echoed one another. There was disappointment, a lot of that in fact, both in that their plan failed miserably and that Willow had tried to tell them that wouldn’t work and they hadn’t listened. 

Sure, they overlooked her opinion for a multitude of valid reasons, the main one being that they had no other plan to think of. Tensions had been high that afternoon and Willow had been uncharacteristically blunt, a sign of her frustration and hurt. But they were all feeling a little hurt, and when there is a room full of people pushed to the brink who all fight when backed into a corner, it made for an unyielding atmosphere. 

They were all stubborn, no doubt about it. Xander could be pig headed. Buffy was strong-willed to the point of being utterly inflexible, Angel wasn’t an easily forgiving person, and Willow…for all that she was a great friend, she could be willful to a fault. They all played a role in the current severance of their little group of slayerettes. And the worst part was they all knew it, but no one had a clue as to where to start repairing the rift between them all. 

Xander let out a ragged sigh as they reached the sidewalk leading up to Willow’s porch. He looked to the front door, seeing that the porch light was off and there were no lights shining inside. He was disheartened by the sight, but in no way surprised. Still, he held out hope that she was inside. They both did. 

He started up the porch, only turning back when Buffy called out to him.

“Xander--” the tiny blonde said tentatively. “Can you…can you tell her--hi--for me?” she asked softly, regret clear in her voice. 

Smiling sadly he nodded, “Sure thing, Buff. Get home safe, okay?”

“Bye Xan,” she smiled gently, turning slowly on her heel and leaving him alone on Willow’s porch.

He unlocked the front door, stepping inside and taking a minute to listen to the sounds in the darkened home. There was the ticking of the grandfather clock, the hum of the heater, and nothing else. Closing his eyes, he shook his head and dropped his keys on the side table like always.

Bypassing the kitchen, he started up the stairs, taking them one at a time. When he found himself at the mouth of the hallway, he paused just out side of the guest bedroom, his designated room, and turned toward the closed door at the end of the hall.

Walking those few steps, he almost held his breath, hoping against hope that he would find her in there, maybe curled up in her bed, red hair spilled across her pillow. He slowly, quietly opened her door and was met with complete silence. There was no one lying on her still made bed, no one clicking the keys on her laptop that rested idly on her desk, no one sitting by her French doors staring blankly at the night sky. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against the doorframe.

“Where are you Will…?”

 

Chapter Thirty-Seven:

 

“Son of a--” Spike raised a scarred brow as he listened to the tiny redhead in front of him curse. Lounging semi-comfortably against a brick wall just outside of Willy’s lovely establishment, the blonde crossed his arms over his chest and just let her rant; since that’s all she had been doing since the name Ethan Rayne was spoken. He had no clue who this guy was, but it was clear that Willow knew exactly who he was. And he hadn’t made a good impression on the witch, that’s for damn sure.

“Stupid, slimy, British--”

“Hey!” he grumbled, feeling the need to appear at least a little indignant at her last comment. She merely rolled her eyes and continued to ignore him, much preferring to pace. 

“Why can’t he just stay gone?” Willow asked, head tilted back, eyes on the sky. “You’d think he’d learn. He gets his butt kicked every time he comes here, but does that stop him? Oh no, he just comes back for more,” she glanced at him, almost in askance, and then glared. “Ugh, look who I’m talking to.”

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?” Spike snorted, a little annoyed.

“You,” she returned, waving her hand at him, “You do the same thing. You show up in Sunnydale, Buffy beats you horribly, and you scamper off with your tail between your legs. But do you stay gone? No, you come back for more. Why?” she wanted to know, managing to simultaneously glare at him and appear curious. “Seriously, is it like a British thing? Or maybe a guy thing? Some sort of mental defect?”

“I’m not bloody defective!” he shouted defensively, pushing himself off the wall and staring her down menacingly.

“Well then tell me,” Willow disputed, “what is it? Is it that you can’t resist a challenge? Is your ego so bruised after such a pounding that you need to prove something? What? Or are you bad guys just so eager to be taken down by the slayer?”

“I get that you’re right pissed, love,” Spike mused with a mildly disgruntled expression, “but do I need to remind you that I’m *helping* you? Keep bitching and I’ll leave you to clean up your own bloody mess.”

“I didn’t--” she stammered, finally really looking at him and seeing how tightly wound he was. “Sorry,” Willow muttered, feeling properly chastised. Seemingly deflated, she fell beside him, the unusual twosome now both leaning against the cool brick wall, her eyes tired. “It’s not you. It’s just…god, Ethan! I should have known! He’s pulled this kind of stuff before, but he’s never been involved with the First.”

“You need to tell me about him,” Spike said gruffly, looking about their surroundings and frowning. “But we need to move this little party, pet. Don’t really care for the atmosphere; never know who might be listening.”

“Yeah,” she agreed, pushing herself away from the wall. “Where should we go…?”

Spike exhaled sharply, unnecessarily, and glanced at her sideways. “Dunno,” he shrugged, “Your place?”

“No,” she denied swiftly with a shake of her head, red hair flying about with the motion. 

“Well there’s always the factory,” he offered with a blatant smirk.

“Oh let me think--no,” she grimaced, giving him a dark look. “While we might have some sort of…truce; I still as a general rule don’t trust vampires. Not Drusilla, and dang sure not your minions.”

“I’m hurt, love,” he simpered, hand to his chest. That earned him a roll of the eyes. “Well then do you have any suggestions?”

“There’s always the crypt,” she shrugged halfheartedly, not exactly enthused by the prospect.

“Mind picking a place with, oh I don’t know, electricity?” he snarked. “I may be a vampire but that doesn’t mean I spend all my time in a sodding graveyard.” 

“Well…” she hedged, trying to think of neutral and non-lethal territory; her eyes leaving his and dropping to the dirty ground beneath her feet, “there’s always the, um, S-Sunset Motel, off Seward Street…”

Willow could honestly say she didn’t like the rather silky masculine smile that spread across the sharp lines of his face. It made him look distinctly dangerous, and not in the ‘I want to kill you’ kind of way.

“You want to hide away in some sleazy motel with me?” he drawled, thoroughly enjoying her discomfort, the thumb of his left hand hooked on the belt loop of his jeans, his right hand sliding teasingly along his chest.

“It’s not sleazy!” she denied feverishly, a blush coming over her, “it’s not like they charge by the hour--and they have cable.” The smirk he gave her was telling, he was wondering how she knew any of this in the first place. “Don’t give me that look, and--oh just shut up,” she mumbled, completely embarrassed.

“Look,” the redhead hissed as she stepped in closer and fixed him with her best glare, which sadly was hardly menacing, “we need to talk. We can’t do that here,” she sneered, glancing around in disgust, “there are too many demons, and I wouldn’t trust Willy not to rat on us to Ethan. We can’t go back to my house because--because Xander might be there already. I will *not* stay in the factory,” she denied adamantly. “So we need neutral ground, and Sunnydale is without a lot of options. So unless you want to be all ‘cloak and dagger’ and meet in the dead of night at the cemetery, the Sunset is our best bet. Got any complaints?”

“Never had any complaints,” he grinned, secretly both pleased and amused by her rant. “Why don’t you lead the way love?”

 

~~~~~~~~~

 

The walk was made in complete silence, Willow too tense for idle chit chat and Spike perfectly comfortable without it. He had never been one for small talk and while he sort of liked the chit, he had no desire to ask her how her day went. 

Spike spent most of their not so leisurely stroll watching her, or more precisely watching her watching the streets. It was obvious what she was looking for, she didn’t have to say anything for him to know. About this time Buffy and her roving gang of idiots would be on the prowl, out and about and looking for trouble. Trouble is surely what they’d have if the slayer saw him within even five feet of Willow. In spite of all the infighting going on, he knew little Buffy still worried about the witch, and Willow never denied that she cared for her friends. Personally, he thought she was better off without them.

He wanted to tell her just to forget them, they didn’t need their help. He wasn’t sure if that was completely true, they were in some deep shit and they could use all the help they could get. But with her powers and knowledge, and his brute strength and willing minions, he was willing to bet they would have a pretty decent chance against the First. Normally he was never this optimistic, but lately he figured she had been pessimistic enough for the both of them.

The parking lot of the Sunset Motel had a total of three cars, one of which had to belong to an employee. The neon vacancy sign flickered on and off and Willow’s steps began to slow and she started when she felt a cold hand grip her own.

Looking up into blue eyes, the annoyed question poised on her lips clear in her gaze, Spike merely grunted and pulled her closer to him as he pushed the glass door to the front desk open. The jangling of a bell could be heard and the middle-aged and obviously bored woman at the desk glanced up from the late night talk show she was watching. Her gaze passed over Willow dismissively and the redhead glowered silently. Her eyes fell on Spike and her approval shined brightly in her stare. He was a fine specimen, even Willow had to admit, but this was just rude.

“Evening love,” Spike murmured, voice low and inviting as his hand left Willow’s and his arm settled comfortably about her waist, pulling her against him lightly. The owner, whose name appeared to be ‘Charlene’ if her name tag was any indication, smiled in what Willow assumed was supposed to be a sultry manner, and sat forward in her chair, cleavage clearly on display. Willow grunted disapprovingly and Spike hid a chuckle at her irritation.

“What can I do you for, handsome?” she asked, deep and husky. She was obviously a smoker, the redhead noted with a grimace. Charlene sounded more gruff and phlegm-y than inviting.

“Red and I are in need of a room for the night,” he smiled, her grin faltering slightly at the reminder of the girl at his side. Her gaze flicked to the redhead, looking decidedly unimpressed, and she nodded. If she noticed their lack of luggage, she didn’t say anything.

“Here you are,” she simpered, finger twirling in her crispy, tightly curled blonde hair. Handing Spike a key card, she grinned and let her fingers brush his teasingly, “Room 212, upstairs and to your right.” The bleached blonde smiled his understanding. “And if you need--anything--you come get me, sugar,” she offered with a bat of her eyelashes. 

“Will do, pet,” he smirked as his grip on Willow’s waist tightened and he turned her toward the exit. 

He could hear Willow mumbling as they climbed the stairs and reaching the landing on the second floor. She didn’t sound too happy and he resisted the urge to laugh at her angry mutterings. Still palming the key card, she glanced over and noticed the second piece of flimsy paper in his hand. Without preamble, she snatched from his palm, garnering a raised brow from her vampire companion.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” she nearly growled, looking up at him incredulously. “She gave you her phone number! God, rude much?” she squeaked. “I mean, she looks old enough to be your mother, except you’re probably old enough to be her grandfather. And hello, I was standing right *there*! What am I, chopped liver?”

“Look at you, love,” he smirked as they reached their designated room, key sliding in the door, “defending my honor. I’m flattered.”

“I don’t care about your honor,” she dismissed much to his amusement, “how obnoxious. Come on, it’s like the middle of the night on a weekday and a guy and a girl show up looking for a room, with no bags, and she acts like I’m the proverbial spare tire. For all she knows we could have come here to do--stuff and she just totally hits on you! The nerve, honestly.” 

“It’s shameful,” he agreed, sarcasm lacing his voice as he swung open the door and led her inside.

Their room wasn’t anything special, a dull off white trimmed with a red floral border. There was a queen size bed in the center with a tacky flowered comforter. Across from it was a simple oak dresser, on top a small color television. To the right there was a tiny square table and two chairs. Just past the bed was the door to the bathroom, and that was all. It was slightly Spartan if you asked her, but it would serve its purpose. Nobody would be listening in on them here. Well no one except maybe Charlene, she thought bitterly.

Spike shrugged off his duster, tossing it carelessly onto the bed, and threw himself into one of the slightly cushioned chairs at the table. “Take a seat, love,” he ordered, voice serious and deep. “Time to get down to business.”

Willow followed suit and sat opposite him, hands anxiously playing with the hem of her shirt. The lighter atmosphere that had appeared as they bantered disappeared with the grim expression on his face and the tension building in the redhead. 

“So tell me about this Ethan Rayne,” he started, leaning back in his chair, hands clasped loosely in his lap. “He really as bad as all that?”

“Yeah,” she murmured softly, head bowed. “Ethan’s not--he doesn’t look dangerous. Hell, he’s a middle-aged Englishman, there’s nothing threatening about that. But he’s devious, and smart. His only fault is that he never learned to do the damage and leave. He always stuck around, you know? To rub our noses in it.” 

“What kind of stunts did the bloke pull then?” he asked curiously, intrigued.

“You remember Halloween, when everyone turned into their costumes?” she wondered.

“You mean when you tried to bean me with a bloody pipe?” he sneered.

“That’s the one,” she grimaced. “Um, that was all Ethan. He did this spell, something that eliminated the division between who you are and who you were dressed up as. He was--well, he was worshipping Chaos, did some serious damage that night too. It could have been permanent if Giles hadn’t forced him to break the statue.”

“He worshipped Chaos?” Spike asked, the muscles in his body tense. He was well aware of the dangers that came with worshipping evil deities. They never played fair. And while he might be evil, he had no desire to mess with the likes of them. They were just too damn unpredictable.

“Ethan’s sort of a follower,” she tried to explain. “When he was young, he and Giles were involved with Eyghon. Then he was worshipping Chaos. Now the First, he’s consistent, I’ll give him that.”

That wasn’t good. Spike frowned and shifted uncomfortably in his seat. Men who chased after gods weren’t looking for a leader to follow; they were looking for power and a whole lot of it. 

“In the other Sunnydale, uh the future Sunnydale,” Willow said with a perplexed look, unsure how to phrase that, “he helped this vampire, Mr. Trick, distribute band candy that turned all the adults into teenagers, mentally that is, so that the mayor could steal babies from the hospital nursery to feed to this demon.

“He got caught, big surprise,” she smirked halfheartedly, “then he came back awhile later and managed to turn Giles into a Fyarl demon, but Buffy eventually got him to turn him back before he got arrested by this secret government group, the Initiative. That got him deported and kept him out of our hair. But by then things started to go bad at home and we really didn’t pay a lot of attention to him.”

Her hand came up to her head, rubbing tiredly at her temples. “I was so sure we wouldn’t have to worry about him,” she muttered, disgruntled. “He’s bad enough on his own, but if the First is giving him orders…”

“Then we’re bloody well screwed,” he finished with a grim sigh. 

“And Buffy can’t even slay him,” Willow said, shoulders falling. “Evil or not, Ethan’s still human.”

“I wouldn’t worry about it, pet,” Spike smirked, but his face was drawn. “I don’t have a problem offing humans.”

“Thanks for the reminder,” she muttered, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. He grinned at her discomfort and crossed his arms over his chest. 

Willow’s eyes scanned the room, finally finding the alarm clock sitting on the nightstand. Her eyes widened and she let out a muffled groan, her head in her hands. “It’s already so late,” she mumbled. The night was more than half over, she was wiped out, and she wanted nothing more than to just fall into bed and sleep the day through. Trouble was she wasn’t in a hurry to go home. Xander would be waiting, no doubt wanting to talk, but she had no desire to talk. She was sick of arguing with him, of feeling hurt, confused, and angry. There was no doubt they needed to talk this out, but she just didn’t have the energy for it right now. Besides, if Xander found out about her little agreement with Spike, she’d never hear the end of it. 

“You might as well go home, pet,” Spike shrugged, sitting up a little straighter. “There’s not much we can do tonight and you look right knackered.” 

“I, um,” she stammered quietly, “I think I’ll stick around for awhile. But thanks,” she smiled weakly. “I’m just going to--try and de-stress for awhile.”

He knew she was lying. While he was sure she was as stressed as she claimed to be, he knew there was more to it. He could see the tension in her body, she still massaged her temples, a sign that she had a headache, and she was far too pale. The past few days were taking a startling toll on her and he reluctantly had to admit he was worried about her. 

“Right then,” he nodded to himself. “Why don’t you take the bed, love? You look like you could use some beauty sleep,” he added with an amused smirk. 

“Funny,” she muttered with a tiny frown as she trudged to the bed, flopping unceremoniously onto the mattress and turning to look at him curiously. 

Spike made no move to leave, instead simply propping his feet up on the table and leaning back in his chair. He reached for the remote to the television and turned the set on, turning the volume down so it wouldn’t disturb her, and rested his hands across his stomach.

“You aren’t leaving?” Willow asked, hushed. 

He glanced to the bed, cocking his head to the side, not bothering with a smart remark or a sneer. She was looking up at him, without the animosity or annoyance she usually graced him with. The redhead looked at him, eyes tired and face worn, with complete trust. It was a little disconcerting.

“Nah,” he dismissed easily, tone soft, “Can’t leave you here by your lonesome. Who knows what kind of trouble you’d get into,” he grinned when the mumbled something unintelligible. “Just close your sodding eyes already,” he chided gently, “I’ll be around when you wake up.”

Feeling strangely comforted by his gruff reassurances, Willow turned away from him, resting her head on the down pillow and closed her eyes.


	11. Chapters 38-40

Chapter Thirty-Eight:

 

Morning arrived with little fanfare and Xander tumbled out of his designated bed in the guest room of the Rosenberg home, bleary eyed and not so bushy tailed. He blinked, eyes feeling like sandpaper, and grimaced at the foul taste in his mouth. The joys of morning breath, he mused, not even able to bring himself to laugh at his own sarcasm. 

Glancing at the alarm clock on the otherwise barren nightstand, he was relieved that it was only a little after nine in the morning. Their little research powwow at the library wasn’t scheduled for about another hour and a half. That gave him enough time to shower, get dressed, maybe eat something for breakfast before he had to leave. 

He stood, taking a second to stretch his arms before grabbing some clothes from his dresser and walking out into the hall. Everyone thought he had such bad fashion sense, what with all the mismatched clothes he wore all the time. They thought he was trying to make a statement, something artsy and profound no doubt. But only he and Willow knew the truth. He was just too damn lazy and out of it in the mornings to coordinate. 

Thinking of Willow, Xander hesitated just outside the bathroom door, filled with both cautious optimism and steely resolve as he turned, peeking over his own shoulder to seek out the sight of Willow’s door. The wooden panel was slightly ajar, allowing just the tiniest bit of natural light spill out into the hallway, just like he had left it the night before.

Any hope he had that this day would be better than the last was shattered when he realized she had never come home. It was more than simple disappointment or sadness. Sunnydale was not a place to wonder about at night, especially when distracted and angry. She hadn’t come home and he had no way to know if she was all right or lying dead in a ditch somewhere. He couldn’t have sounded more like his own mother with that last thought, but for the first time in his life he could understand what she meant. Willow had no cell phone, she had no pager, and even if she did he honestly wasn’t sure if she would bother to answer a call from him. He just wanted to know she was okay, that she was safe. If he hadn’t known better, if he didn’t know her better, he would say this would be the perfect revenge on her part, punishment for them not listening to her. But he did know her, he knew her well, and vindictive really wasn’t her style. 

She wouldn’t have disappeared to hurt them. She left because she needed time alone, that he knew without a doubt. But whether she stayed gone because she still couldn’t be around them, or because she was in trouble, he didn’t know. He knew that the nagging doubt that she needed him, needed his help, would not leave him as the day progressed. It wouldn’t stop until he found her, until he knew she was okay.

With a resigned sigh, he shuffled into the bathroom, the cool tiles shocking against the warmth of his feet. He turned on the water, listening to it pound on the shower floor, and rested his head against the wall, eyes closed. He prayed, for one of the first times in his life, for something, anything, a sign that the little redhead who had been his life for so many years was okay. 

He got no answer.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow’s eyes fluttered open and she could feel the crust that had formed around her eyelids as she slept, hampering her effort to see. One hand came up to wipe away the offending material and she blinked more normally, waiting for her eyes to adjust to the utter darkness of the room.

It was pitch black all around her and she frowned. It didn’t feel like night. Her internal clock conflicted with her surroundings and it left her absolutely confused. It felt like morning, she felt like she had slept through the night, waking refreshed if not a little out of sorts. 

Finally giving up trying to make sense of her conflicting thoughts, she turned onto her side, the mattress squeaking a bit with the effort. Squinting, she made out the tiny red lines that informed her it was now ten o’clock in the a.m. Well, as least she wasn’t crazy, it really was morning. 

She flopped back onto the bed and nearly shrieked when her hand made contact with cold flesh. Willow’s gaze flew to her left where she could make out the outline of a body, mostly shrouded in black darker than the shadows. Scrambling to the nightstand and feeling around hastily, she finally found the switch for the bedside lamp and flicked it on.

Spike was lying next to her, one arm curled up under the pillow, propping his head up, the other rested at his side. His black duster was still slung over the table and his boots were sitting at the foot of one the chairs. Other than that he was fully clothed, even still wearing that red unbuttoned dress shirt he always insisted on wearing over his t-shirt.

His face was slack, mouth slightly parted, but his chest didn’t rise or fall. He hadn’t woken during the commotion she had made, which she found herself slightly grateful for. She still hadn’t processed everything, in fact she was just know remembering how they got here in the first place, and the more time he gave her to digest it, the better. 

Why had he stayed? She had been surprised enough when he decided to keep her company until she fell asleep, but she had expected him to be long gone by the time she had woken. But no, he got comfortable, kicked off his shoes, closed every single drapery he could find so he wouldn’t explode into dust at morning’s first light, and climbed into bed beside her. 

She never could seem to figure out his motives. Half the time she was sure he was only helping her out because there was a chance of a good spot of violence and he didn’t want to miss the action. And then he would go do something like this, something that made her think that he almost cared, and she was back at square one. She never thought Spike would be so damn confusing.

Willow rose from the bed, doing her best not to disturb the mattress. Why she bothered she wasn’t sure. If Spike hadn’t woken up after the near fit she had, it was doubtful he would wake up simply because the bed shifted a bit. 

Smoothing down her wrinkled and worn clothes, she ran her fingers through her tousled hair, frowning at her image in the mirror. The bruises on her face were fading and almost completely unnoticeable, which was good, but she still looked so worn out. Apparently one night’s beauty sleep didn’t do the trick. 

Her eyes fell to the door and then back to Spike. If she opened it, sunlight would flood the room and he would be burned to a crisp. She couldn’t have that happen. It would do her no good to see her partner in crime go up in flames, although sometimes it was tempting. 

She ambled to the closet by the bathroom, smiling tightly when she found what she was looking for. Grabbing the extra blanket the motel kept there for a cold night, she moved back to the bed and gently, ever so carefully, laid it over his sleeping form. She made sure to cover him entirely, from bleached blonde hair to lily white toes, before she stepped back and examined her work.

Satisfied with the job she had done, Willow grabbed the room key that Spike had put in his duster pocket and quietly opened the door, shutting it swiftly once she was outside. She had a lot to do and no idea where to start. But first things first, she needed coffee and badly.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Ah, another Saturday morning spent in Sunnydale High,” Xander crowed as he stepped through the double doors to the library, bringing all other eyes to him. “Let me count the ways I haven’t missed this.” 

“Ah yes, and a good morning to you too, Xander,” Giles clucked with a disapproving frown. 

The only other occupant of the room was Buffy who was perched on the counter, legs swinging idly, as she graced the brunette with a small, but welcoming smile. Angel wasn’t going to be joining them until sunset, only a few minutes before it he got moving early. Somehow Xander managed not be disappointed. 

“Hey,” the Slayer greeted, with a tiny nod. “You okay? You kind of look like crap.”

“Funny, I feel like it too,” he smirked halfheartedly as he threw himself into one of the chairs at the table, propping his feet up on the surface and leaning back precariously. 

“How is…um, Willow?” the blonde asked hesitantly, as if unsure whether she really wanted to hear the answer or not. 

“I wouldn’t know,” he muttered, eyes growing distant.

“She still not talking?” Buffy murmured sympathetically, her expression grim.

“No, she wasn’t home,” Xander said, finally looking her in the eye, his profound sadness causing her to nearly flinch. “She never came home, Buff.”

“Oh,” she exhaled, almost defeated. “Maybe she just needed to blow off some steam, you know? She probably crashed at a friend’s house or something.” She was trying to be optimistic, put on a brave face for Xander’s sake. She was failing miserably.

“What friend?” Xander pressed, completely honest. “She has no other friends. I mean, we’re the only ones she has even talked to since--you know. She doesn’t know anyone else. Hell, the only person she ever talked to except me was--” he stopped abruptly, a grimace on his face at the thought.

“Was who?” Buffy wondered, brows knitted together curiously, even Giles seemed to paying closer attention.

Was Spike, he was about to say before he had stopped himself. It was true, the only other person, if you could call him a person, outside of their group of friends that she ever spoke to was Spike. Most of those conversations had been tense and not exactly voluntary, but it was still a fact. But more importantly, it was a fact Buffy didn’t need to know. If she found out that Willow had been talking with Spike even though all the while he was trying to kill her, she wouldn’t be a happy Slayer. They didn’t need that kind of drama, not now.

“Nobody,” he said shortly, quietly, effectively ending that line of questioning.

Silence reigned for the longest time after that. Xander chose to go back to absently studying his shoes while Buffy returned to her leg swinging, and Giles’ nose never left his book. 

Buffy fidgeted on the counter, her fingers idly tracing the embossment on the cover of one of Giles’ books as she kept glancing up at a sullen Xander, before her gaze would fall back to the floor. 

“Maybe…” she started, clearing her throat awkwardly when her voice broke, “maybe she’ll be back tonight?” she offered, trying to get him to lighten up a little, to give him a little hope.

“Yeah,” he agreed, although it was obvious to anyone looking that he didn’t believe a word coming out of his mouth, “maybe she will.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow let herself back into the motel room, practically scurrying through the door in case Spike had gotten loose from his coverings. Thankfully though he hadn’t moved an inch in the hour she had been gone, still firmly ensconced in his cocoon of blankets. 

She had left initially to get coffee but found herself taking a detour on the way to the Espresso Pump. Spike hadn’t fed in a long time, if she remembered correctly, and he would be hungry when he woke. She figured it might be a good idea to stop by Willy’s and pick up some blood to go. She really didn’t want Spike to wake up and decide she would make a good morning snack. 

Never mind that there was the bonus of seeing Willy almost pee his pants when she walked through the door that morning. Spike had made quite the impression; that was for sure. Especially if the stiff way the bartender was walking and the deep bruising across his throat were any indication.

Throwing Spike’s packets of blood in the mini fridge, Willow un-tucked him from his shell of blankets, not removing it entirely, but pulling it back so that his face was free. She really didn’t want to see how he might react if he woke up and couldn’t see a thing.

Curling up in one of the chairs beside the table, the redhead sipped delicately at the now warm mocha in her hands, her gaze never wavering from the blonde sleeping peacefully a few feet from her. 

She remembered when their positions had been reversed, that night in the crypt when she had broken down and told him everything. He had told her to lie down, to sleep, and she had found him the next morning, still sitting at the other end of the small mausoleum, having never left her side. 

When she had left earlier, she had considered just going home. She needed to shower, to change clothes, and to get something to eat that had some sort of nutritional value. But she couldn’t just leave him there.

Sure, he could take care of himself; he’d been doing it for centuries. But he, a vampire without a soul, had the courtesy to stay with her while she was sleeping and utterly defenseless. The very least she could do was return the favor. She owed it to him. 

Besides, this time to herself while she waited for him to wake could be beneficial. Things had been kind of crazy lately, and her thoughts were still as jumbled today as they were days ago. She needed to find a way to sniff out Ethan Rayne, she needed to figure out a way to reconnect with her friends, but in the end her thoughts once again circled back to Spike. 

She needed to find out what she was to him, and more importantly, what the hell he was to her. 

 

Chapter Thirty-Nine: 

 

“This is our brilliant plan?” Xander wondered with a perplexed expression as he glanced from the Slayer to Angel, and back.

“What’s wrong with it?” Buffy asked defensively as she slipped on her coat and slid a stake into a hidden pocket.

“Gee Buff, I don’t know,” he drawled with a roll of his eyes. “Shaking down the local bartender who caters to all things creepy and demonic? It sounds too…simple.” 

“The brilliance is in the simplicity,” she explained with fervor. “Willy’s always in the know. A few not so vague threats, maybe a pounding or two courtesy of me and Angel, he’ll talk. We need a place to start, Xan, that’s all. You don’t have to come if you don’t want.” 

“I think we’d be able to manage without you,” Angel threw in as he straightened out his leather duster.

“Sorry Deadboy, you’re not getting rid of me that easily,” Xander smirked, always too happy to burst Angel’s bubble. 

“And there goes my hope for a pleasant evening,” the vampire sighed, choosing to say nothing more when he noticed Buffy’s warning glare, focused equally on both of them.

“You all almost ready?” called Giles as he strode out of his office, nose firmly planted in a book. 

“We’re about to leave,” Buffy said as her Watcher finally glanced up at them.

“If Willy gives you any information, I need you to consult with me first before you take action,” Giles reminded her sternly. “You are not to go looking for trouble, not before we really know what we’re dealing with.” 

“It’ll be fine, Giles,” she sighed, arms crossing over her chest almost sulking. 

“This isn’t just another demon, Buffy,” he interrupted, causing her shoulders to drop as his familiar ‘lecture’ tone. “This isn’t even just another apocalypse. This is the First Evil. Its power is indestructible. If you walk into battle before you know the rules, you hand the advantage to your enemy. We must wait for the opportune moment, it is absolutely essential.” 

“Yes sir,” she mock saluted, ignoring his exasperated sigh as she turned to the waiting Angel and Xander. “We going?” 

“Would already be gone if you hadn’t gotten the G-man all riled up,” Xander snorted as she stuck her tongue out at him and pushed him aside playfully, striding toward the double doors.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

Thirty minutes later and four vampires dusted, the trio finally spied the familiar dank bar belonging to Sunnydale’s biggest coward, Willy. 

“So what’s the plan?” Xander wondered as he poked his head around the corner, seeing demons and vampires alike milling about casually. “We go in, white flag a-waving? Or are we going in gun’s blazing, much in the style of John Wayne?”

“Angel, you ready?” Buffy asked in a bored tone, cocking her head to the side and peering up at him. He met her gaze, glaring amber eyes and ridges prominent. “Then let’s go.”

“John Wayne it is,” Xander muttered as he jogged to catch up to the twosome who were striding confidently into the bar, shoving everyone out of their way without a second thought. 

The brunette knew the second Willy had detected their presence, that annoying high-pitched whine reverberating through the dank watering hole.

Buffy smirked as she saw Willy go completely pale, nearly translucent, at the sight of her and a very vamped out Angel. She sidled over to him, the swing in her hips the only sign that a part of her was thoroughly enjoying his torment. She could feel Angel hovering behind her as she reached the bar, taking the only empty seat and smiling up at a perspiring Willy. 

Xander followed them, a couple steps back but not too far away, just to be safe. Being this close to so many of the undead made his skin crawl. There were way too many of them for comfort and he had no intention of leaving more than five feet between him and the Slayer at all times until they finally left.

Angel moved to Buffy’s right, shoving a drunken vampire of his stool, ignoring the thud that sounded when he hit the floor as the souled vampire took his seat at the bar. 

“No, no, no, no--” stammered Willy as he wrung his hands together, the dingy rag in their grip tightening to the point of tearing. 

“What’s a matter?” Buffy pouted dramatically, “Not happy to see me?” 

“Hey, I already gave you your information,” he squealed, his nervously gaze kept flitting toward Angel, who glowered and inched closer. “I told them everything I know. A-And I still got the bruises to show for it,” he said, pulling down the collar of his shirt slightly to reveal slightly dark hand marks around his throat.

“You better--wait, them?” Buffy caught herself, all the smugness leaving her as confusion set in. “Who is them?” 

“The girl,” he reminded her, his anxiety lessening as the blonde sat back a little, glancing to Angel, then Xander, “Your little redhead.”

“You and Willow were here?” Buffy asked, head turned to Xander in puzzlement. “I thought you two haven’t spoken for awhile?” 

“Not him,” Willy broke in, the tension in his shoulders easing, a thin smile breaking across his face. “That kid could never do this to me,” he snorted, pointing to his damaged neck. That earned a collective rolling of the eyes. “She was with Spike.”

“Spike?!” she nearly shrieked, all movement in the bar freezing at the shocked sound that came from the Slayer, everyone looking on cautiously as she attempted to reign in her confusion and anger. 

“Yeah, you know, bleached blonde, English, pretty nice looking if you’re into that whole bad boy thing,” he shrugged, ignorant of the girl’s furious glare.

“We know who he is,” Angel almost growled, the rumbling finally shutting the bartender’s mouth. 

“Willow wouldn’t be with Spike,” Buffy denied, eyes wide in denial. “She wouldn’t, right Xan?”

“Uh, well…” he hedged, saved from answering further by Willy’s amused chatter. 

“You guys have some sort of falling out?” the balding man smirked, running a hand through what was left of his hair. “Your little ‘Scooby gang’ not all hugs and kisses anymore?” 

“Shut up,” she warned him and he took a small step back at the fierceness in her voice. 

“As I see it,” he declared, gaze faltering, “I already told everything I know. You want to know, go see your friend.” 

“That’s not how it works, Willy,” she reminded him through gritted teeth. “Tell us what you told them.” 

“What do I get out of it?” he wondered with a cockiness that shouldn’t have been there at all. 

“You get to walk out of here with all your limbs intact,” Angel offered obligingly. “Because I’ll definitely give you more than a couple bruises.” 

“Well if you put it that way,” he muttered, his earlier anxiety returning in a flood. 

“What do you know?” Buffy asked again, doing her best to reel in her patience. “This is the last time I’m going to ask. Next time I use my fists.” 

“Fine,” he gave up, putting his hands in front of him and nodding fervently. “I’ll tell you what I told them, but it ain’t much. You’re looking for the uh, First, right?” he asked, nearly hissing the last part as he leaned in close, so as not to be easily heard. She nodded tightly and he licked his lips nervously. 

“The guy you’re looking for, the First’s errand boy,” he said hushed, “name’s Ethan Rayne. Find him, and you’ll find the big guy.”

There was a long silence and Willy gulped apprehensively and took the smallest step away from the silent, still trio standing before him. 

“Why am I not more surprised?” Buffy sighed tiredly, looking to Angel for reassurance. “I should be more surprised, shouldn’t I?” Angel merely looked on wordlessly, waiting for her cue as to what they do next. “We should tell Giles what--”

His waiting ended abruptly when he was pushed harshly off his stool, feet stumbling before he caught himself and whipped around to face the one who shoved him. He was a little too slow to miss the staggering punch headed toward his face but he did manage to roll his eyes amidst his pain when he realized it was the vamp he had thrown to the ground minutes before. Apparently it hadn’t taken him this long just to get himself off the floor. 

Buffy jumped off her chair to join in the fray and even Xander stepped up to help. The noise and commotion were so loud and distracting that no one, not even the Slayer, noticed a dark haired vampire, enshrouded in shadow, slid off the stool beside where Xander had stood moments before, and slipped off into the night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

His dark, jet black hair fell over his eyes but he didn’t bother to tuck his shoulder length hair behind his ears. Amber eyes scanned the darkness as he reached the mouth of the cave; any normal person would have seen nothing more than pitch black, but his enhanced eyesight picked up the slightest hint of light hundreds of feet inward. 

Starting toward the light, his ears picked up the muffled murmur of chanting and eventually he stepped into the antechamber where one group of eight bringers kneeled in a circle, symbols drawn in blood marred the dirt. 

He passed them by, paying them no notice as they did the same. He headed toward the back with purpose, his head bowing in well learned deferment as he reached the farthest chambers, coming upon the man he was looking for. 

“Master,” he greeted in a low, obedient tone.

“I’ll never get tired of hearing that,” mused Ethan Rayne as he slipped from the shadows, a delighted smirk on his full lips.

“Master, I have news.”

“Well get on with it,” he ordered with a wave of his hand as he threw himself lazily into a wooden armchair, his fingers tapping impatiently on top of his makeshift tabletop. “Some of us aren’t getting any younger.” 

“The Slayer, she knows you’re in town,” he informed the Englishman, head still bowed. “Willy, the bartender, told her.”

“He is a bit of a prat, now isn’t he?” he chuckled. When the vampire remained standing at the mouth of the chamber, the man just sighed deeply and rolled his eyes. “You can go now,” he announced with a shooing gesture, the vampire slinking out almost silently. 

“This is why I don’t have minions,” he mumbled to himself, “bloody thick lot.” 

“But they can be helpful,” the familiar voice caused Ethan to tense almost imperceptibly before he relaxed his body as the First slowly strode out from the back to join him, standing before him in the same form that it always chose when they spoke.

Ethan had to admit, seeing the body of his old mate Philip wasn’t pleasant. He was an evil bastard, no doubt about it, but it didn’t mean he was completely without feeling. Philip had been taken only two years ago by Eyghon, and he himself had barely missed joining his old friend in death. Seeing the recognizable middle-aged man he had known since he was a teenager, who had last appeared shriveled and decaying, up and moving was disconcerting, but wasn’t about to complain to the First. It knew what it was doing, that it bothered him to see Philip, but he refused to give it the satisfaction.

“Seems we have a bit of a problem,” the First drawled, moving to stand in front of the Brit. 

“Not much of one if you ask me,” he snorted derisively. “It’s just the Slayer and her merry band of idiots.”

“Yes,” Philip agreed lowly, “but now she knows you are in town. She and her Watcher will not stop until they find you. And if they find you…they find me.”

“And you aren’t exactly corporeal, mate,” he reminded it succinctly. “Not seeing the problem.” 

“That *is* the problem,” Philip snapped, taking a threatening step forward. “Everything hinges on *you*. I’m not corporeal, and until I am, I need *you* to carry out my plans. You get captured and everything is for naught.”

“Ah lighten up,” he scoffed casually. “Anyone ever tell you, you worry too much?” 

“And you don’t worry enough,” Philip spat, “I suppose that’s why none of your plans ever work. I had hoped that with proper direction you could be molded into something better, greater. But your lust for power clouds your judgment; nothing but a pathetic pauper with delusions of grandeur.”

Ethan clenched his jaw and stifled his tongue. He wanted to jump to his own defense, to tell him he would prove how worthy he was. But as the old adage went, actions spoke louder than words, so he remained consciously subdued. 

“What do you propose we do?” he asked; his voice much calmer, toneless, than before. All his bravado had been pushed aside. “They all ready know I’m here.”

“We need a distraction,” the First considered determinedly, “Something big…something…devastating.” 

The grin that crossed Ethan’s face was nothing short of malicious and every bit genuine. 

“I’m all ears.” 

 

 

Chapter Forty:

 

 

Giles sat stonily, listening as Buffy finished telling him what little they had found out at Willy’s. His head rested tiredly in his hands, a pounding in his temples refusing to cease. He should have seen this coming. He should have known Ethan would be back. After his stunt on Halloween a year ago Ethan had promised he’d be back. While his former friend was a right bastard, he was also a predictable bastard. He never could seem to leave well enough alone. 

 

It didn’t really surprise him that Ethan was in league with the First. The Englishman was reckless but power hungry, and there was no other being more powerful than the First Evil. Well, except for maybe good’s equivalent. Too bad whoever that was hadn’t made an appearance so far. It would have been a nice change of pace. 

 

Buffy observed her Watcher, seeing his exhausted, drawn features and feeling for him. While she shared in his frustration, she didn’t know what he was really feeling. For her, this was simply her calling, her duty. She had to stop the First before it could do more damage. For Giles it was a little more personal. He would have to face off against a friend, former or not, and this time only one of them could walk away from it. Ethan wouldn’t be allowed to escape this time. Before, he had just been a bit of a nuisance, but this time he had gone too far.

 

The line had been drawn. Ethan Rayne was a dead man when they finally got a hold of him. 

 

Angel sat to the right of the Slayer, his hand gripping her own in a show of support. He wasn’t sure if he had the right to make such a gesture, no matter how small, considering they had been on the outs ever since that episode with Ford. He had tried to talk to her, to make her understand, but she needed time and he couldn’t deny her that. There were parts of his past that even he couldn’t reconcile after nearly a century; he certainly couldn’t expect her to in just a few months. But he wanted her to, truly he did.

 

She was the first person in decades that he had let in. After he had been turned, his life had been spent at Darla’s side, delighting in the butchering and slaughtering of the whole of Europe. But even then he hadn’t allowed her to be too close. She was his sire, his lover, his reason for living, but he wasn’t about to trust her with all he was. And then after he regained his soul, he couldn’t even stand to be around her. He had tried, just yearning to be accepted in some form by the woman he had known for so long, but it was too difficult, too painful, and she would have never been able to understand who he was now. Not that she ever really did. 

 

But then, after years of self-imposed isolation, he had seen Buffy and he thought she had seen him too. Not just ‘Angel’, cute guy, or ‘Angel’, the helpful vampire. He had hoped she had seen him, acknowledged who he was and who he had been and accepted him, but she hadn’t, not completely. It was a lot he had asked of her, he realized. She was still such a young girl. Not to mention she was the Slayer, that made it that much harder for her. 

 

So right now he had resigned himself to being her close friend. He would stand beside her, be there to help her and fight next to her, and when she was ready he would be more. They weren’t over, they both knew that. This was just a rough patch; they would get over it eventually. But right now they had more dire things to concentrate on. When this fight with the First was over, if and when they won, that’s when they could talk. That’s when he could make things right. 

 

“You might as well go home,” Giles announced, looking up expressionless at the two people across from him. “There is little that can be done tonight.”

 

“I’ll do a quick patrol and then head home,” Buffy said, glancing at Angel to make sure that was okay with him. He bowed his head in acknowledgement and stood, moving to the book cage to grab a couple extra stakes for himself and Buffy.

 

By the time he returned, Buffy had slid on her leather jacket and was leaning against the counter. Giles was no where to be seen, but he could still hear his muffled heartbeat so the man hadn’t gone far, probably in his office. 

 

Angel handed Buffy two stakes, one she slipped inside the inner lining of her jacket, the other she palmed. He gave her a look and she nodded toward the double doors of the library. Less than a step behind her, he followed out the doors and off campus.

 

They had walked in relatively comfortable silence for awhile, entering Westlake cemetery and only coming across two fledglings in need of dispatching. But Buffy broke the companionable quiet with a soft question.

 

“Do you think he’ll be okay?” she wondered, keeping her gaze straight ahead.

 

“Giles?” he murmured, looking down at her, “Yeah, I think so. He and Ethan aren’t that close anymore, you know,” he shrugged.

 

“Yeah,” she mumbled, “but I think he sees himself in Ethan.” At Angel’s puzzled look, she tried to explain. “They’ve known each other for so long, you know. They were both rebellious and out to get power. Now Ethan’s playing sidekick to the big evil and we’re going to have to put him down. It’s just hard for him.”

 

“But Giles isn’t like that anymore,” Angel argued quietly, “he grew up, he moved on.”

 

“But how much did he really move on? How could he? I mean, that was such a big part of his life, and yeah so he changed for the better, which is all good, but that part of him isn’t really gone.”

 

“The past shapes a person, yes,” Angel said tightly, “but it isn’t who you are. You do things you aren’t proud of, but then you grow up, you get a conscience, and you try to make up for it. Everybody pays for their mistakes, Buffy. But just because they made them once doesn’t mean they will again.” 

 

“I--” she stammered, finally looking up at him and seeing the serious look in his chocolate brown eyes. They weren’t just talking about Giles anymore. 

 

“I didn’t mean it like that,” she denied, swiftly bringing them back to the topic at hand, much to Angel’s disappointment. “I’m not saying that Giles has done anything wrong. He isn’t Ripper anymore, I know that. What I’m saying is that, is there a chance that Giles could become a liability?” 

 

“I don’t think--”

 

“No, hear me out,” she interrupted him, “I know he doesn’t like Ethan, and he would never betray us. I just…what if it’s us or Ethan? If he hesitates, even for a second, we could lose. Can we afford that?” 

 

“I think you need to trust him,” Angel advised coolly. “He’s stood by you. I think that’s the least you owe him. Whatever connection he might have to Ethan Rayne, the past is past. Trust him to do his job. You have enough to worry about; don’t make this situation even more complicated if you don’t have to.” 

 

She heaved a deep sigh, nodding as if to say he was right, and Angel hesitantly reached out to take her hand. When she didn’t pull away he gripped it tighter and squeezed. “Come on,” he murmured, pulling on her hand in the direction of the exit, “I’ll take you home.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Willow walked down the sidewalks of Sunnydale with an uncharacteristically quiet vampire at her side. Her eyes were fixed firmly on the ground in her front of her as she watched one foot move ahead of the other, occasionally breaking her stare to peer up at the bleached blonde to her left. But the second Spike would start to glance her way, her head would dart back down and she would resume observing her feet.

 

They had left the motel a little after sundown. Spike had woken maybe an hour before, showering quickly in the adjoining bathroom and drinking his breakfast with a grateful nod to the redhead who had purchased for him. Pig blood or not, she didn’t have to find him food, but she did and he had found himself filled with the relatively unfamiliar feeling of appreciation.

 

They left shortly after he ate and she had been curiously quiet ever since. She spoke when spoken to, but other than that she tended to stare off into space. He knew that look, had grown used to that over their acquaintance. She was thinking, probably thinking something to death by the looks of it. And by the way she was acting on the walk back to her house, with the shy glances and the way she avoided his eyes, he had a feeling it had to do with him. 

 

It didn’t really surprise Spike that she was contemplating something about their little relationship, for lack of a better word. They weren’t exactly friends; they didn’t share stories or gossip like friends do. They weren’t ‘together’ because there was no real romantic element to their association. Sure, they had kissed, but that had been in the heat of the moment. He had no regrets, and he certainly did think about her in a manner that could constitute ‘romantic’, but she was too jumpy and he wasn’t going to push her. Not yet at least, not until this mess with the first was resolved. After that, who knows? 

 

She was an intriguing girl, no doubt about it. She was powerful, but reluctant to show it. Something had to have happened in her past that made her so leery of pulling out the big magics, but she hadn’t shared that with him and didn’t seem to be in a hurry to shed any light on the subject. It was no matter, he would find out eventually. There were times when she could be a force to be reckoned with, especially when she got that cute little look on her face, her resolve face. There was no denying her when she had that look. But the next second she would go right back to being vulnerable and she would look up at him, tired and worn, with that _expression of reluctant trust and it would tug at him.

 

He could ignore the reluctance he saw. It was easily explained away. He was a vampire after all; trust wasn’t something he was used to receiving from mortals. But the fact that she regarded him with such a look, even though it only really appeared when she was at her lowest, was astonishing to him. Part of him, the demon inside, was disgusted that some little girl looked at him like he was some sort of knight in tarnished armor. But there was that part of him that was too human for its own good that relished it. 

 

Spike stifled a smirk when he turned his head, seeing her red hair fly about as she quickly brought her eyes back to the ground and away from him. She wasn’t fooling anyone and he had a good feeling she knew it.

 

Willow saw her front yard just ahead and glanced at her house, which should have been completely dark inside. Instead, even through the closed curtains, the redhead could see a warm glow coming from inside the living room. 

 

The warm hand, slightly chilled by the night air, on the arm of his duster brought Spike to a stop and he looked down at her with obvious question in his blue eyes.

 

“I think I should probably go on my own from here,” she murmured, her voice a little nervous. “It’s just, Xander’s home and I--”

 

“Don’t want Xapper to see me,” he finished for her, just the tiniest tinge of resentment in his voice. It’s not that he didn’t understand her feelings, but still, an old part of him was stung by her request, like she was ashamed to be seen with him. That wasn’t it, he knew, she just didn’t want more trouble with her friend, but logic didn’t stem the tide of his feelings. 

 

“No problem, love,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “But I’ll be waiting for you on that porch tomorrow night, so if he’s here then too bloody bad,” he warned her and she nodded fervently. 

 

“Night Spike,” she offered, feeling a little awkward at saying goodnight to Spike of all people. It was just so unnatural.

 

He didn’t say anything, just nodded tightly and then walked off, fading into the darkness. Steeling herself, she took a deep breath and pulled her house keys out from her pocket as she trudged up the steps of her porch. 

 

She had no need for her keys it turned out. The second her footsteps sounded on the porch, the front door swung open slowly and Xander appeared in the doorway, looking none too pleased.

 

“Hey,” she mumbled, her greeting uncomfortable considering they hadn’t actually spoken to one another in a long while.

 

“Hey,” he returned monotone, taking a step to the side to let her inside. She dropped her keys on the side table and walked into the living room with slow steps, a feeling of foreboding coming over her. 

 

“I didn’t think you would be home,” Willow said after a long moment.

 

“I wasn’t,” Xander replied as he moved past her to stand in front of her, arms crossed and face studiously blank, but there was anger and worry in his eyes. “Buffy, me and Deadboy paid a visit to Willy’s tonight. You’ll never guess what we found out,” he feigned a gasp and his anger began to show more prevalently. “Or maybe you would. You wouldn’t believe what Willy told us. I mean, Ethan Rayne back in town. That’s believable, not good news but still believable.”

 

“Oh,” she murmured, not sure where he was going with this. 

 

“But I don’t really need to tell you all about this,” he shrugged, “after all, you all ready know. Don’t you?”

 

“Xander,” she tried to step in, but he simply raised his hand, silently asking her to not bother. 

 

“I know you’ve been upset, I’m not even saying that you don’t have any reason to be upset,” he began, “but I never thought you’d go as far as to join up with Spike. Spike! Are you crazy? He’s not our Spike, in case you forgot. There is no chip and no soul. He’s a murderer and I don’t know why he hasn’t killed you yet but it’s only a matter of time, Will.”

 

“He is helping me Xander,” she argued, “I know exactly who and what he is. And yes, sometimes it scares me--”

 

“Sometimes?” he asked incredulously. 

 

“He may not be our Spike, but he isn’t the Spike you think he is either. He hasn’t tried to kill me,” she continued. “Heck Xander, he’s even saved my life a few times.”

 

“Don’t you see, he has to have some scheme, Will! You’re not stupid, you know how he is.”

 

“And maybe he doesn’t want to see this world go to hell,” she said angrily, “He’s done it before, helped us without a soul or a chip,” she reminded him.

 

“No Willow, he hasn’t. He never helped *us*, he helped Buffy,” he said.

 

“Oh, so you’d trust him if he was working with Buffy and not me?” she remarked, stung by his comment.

 

“No,” he denied feverously.

 

“I’m just trying to be clear, Xan,” she nearly sneered, “Do you not trust Spike, or do you not trust me? Just because I’m not Buffy, just because he doesn’t have some sort of whacked crush on me, he can’t be trusted? Or is it me? Do you think I went to bed and woke up stupid? I know what I’m doing!” 

 

“Will--”

 

“Listen, I’m not going to fight about this with you. We’ve fought enough as it is, don’t you think?” she wondered, seeing his slight nod. “You don’t trust him, I get it. I can even understand it. But you aren’t the one who has to work with him. Don’t worry about me; I can handle myself just fine.”

 

“Wills, why don’t you just come back and work with us,” he pleaded, taking a step forward and taking her hand. “We miss you, and you know we need you. You’re our research girl, you’re brilliant.”

 

“You guys need me, but you don’t listen to me,” she said softly, her earlier anger fading as she grew more accustomed to the feel of Xander’s hand in her own. “I told you not to go after a bringer, but you did, didn’t you? How did that work out?”

 

“He killed himself,” he replied quietly, not able to look her in the eye when reminded of that. 

 

“I want to help, and I hate fighting with you,” she said sadly, “but if I go back, I’m stuck on the sidelines again. I can’t do that Xander, I won’t. You say you need me, but if you don’t like what I have to say, you ignore me. We both want the same thing, we want to stop the First, but we haven’t been able to work together.”

 

He stared at her, seeing the sincerity in her gaze, and deflated. She wasn’t wrong. None of them worked well together anymore. The Scooby gang wasn’t the well oiled machine that it used to be, and he was the one responsible for it. Him and his spell. 

 

Xander was shocked when he felt her let go of his hand and wrap her arms around him, pulling him into a gentle hug. It took him a minute, but he returned it wholeheartedly, laying his head on her shoulder and just taking in the feel of her. She was his Willow-shaped friend and he had missed her terribly.

 

“I love you Xander,” she murmured in his ear, giving him one last squeeze before pulling back and smiling wobbly. “But I can’t work with you.”

 

She put a small hand to his cheek and he leaned into her familiar touch and sighed. Stretching, she placed a quick kiss on his other cheek and stepped away, looking up at him sadly. “Goodnight, Xan.” 

 

He watched silently as she slipped past him and to the stairs, climbing them with effort. He ran a hand over his face and closed his eyes tightly. “Night Wills.” 

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Ethan stood with arms crossed and a wild smirk as he watched a handful of bringers gather around a dirt circle of blood and symbols, kneeling onto the ground and chanting lowly. He spied a flash of movement and he noticed ‘Philip’, the form the First always took with him, moving to his side.

 

“You sure this will work, mate?” he asked, just to piss the First off. He knew this would work; the big evil wouldn’t have bothered with this little spell if he didn’t know it would work. But still, ‘Philip’ was a right prat. 

 

“Yes,” Philip hissed with a glare. There was no love lost between master and servant. “They won’t know what hit them. Did you get the jar?” 

 

“What kind of idiot do you think I am? Of course I got the bloody thing, it’s sitting right over there,” he waved toward the table across the darkened cave that was slightly obscured by two bringers. The First just glared. 

 

“Well then,” Philip announced, all the attention of the bringers suddenly focused on the non-corporeal entity. Though eyeless, they seemed to stare right at him and Ethan suppressed a slight shudder. It didn’t get much creepier than that.

 

An evil grin spread across the slightly balding man’s face and his voice boomed through the cave, a tinge of eagerness in his tone, “Let’s get on with it.”

 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

 

Angel closed the door to his apartment with a quiet click and began to strip. Shirt unbuttoned, he threw it into a hamper beside his simple dresser and headed into the bathroom.

 

He had no use for a mirror, so his bathroom was just as Spartan as the rest of his home. There were no real aesthetic additives in this place. He didn’t even bother to turn on the lights, his vampiric eyesight aided on that front. 

 

After washing his face and slipping off his black pants, leaving him clad only in boxers and the ring he wore identical to Buffy’s. It was still a little early. He had patrolled with Buffy, dropped her off at home, and then paid a visit to three other cemeteries, staking only a handful of fledglings while he was out. Now that he was home though, he was ready for bed, to just rest and ready himself for tomorrow. Tomorrow they would find Ethan Rayne and then they’d be that much closer to destroying or at least weakening the First. 

 

Pulling back the sheets on his bed, he climbed in and laid his head on the pillow, eyes closing and body stilling like only the dead could. 

 

Falling asleep with relative ease, his rest only lasted five minutes before his eyes shot open, full of pain and confusion, and he screamed.


	12. Chapters 41-44

Chapter Forty-One:

 

From his seat in the Rosenberg living room, Xander Harris could see the sun sink down the sky slowly until finally disappearing beyond the row of houses he could see in the distance. 

The day had been long and awkward, filled with silences and tentative daily routines. He had been awake since seven in the morning, unable to fall back asleep. He knew he should be at school, at least make a token appearance so as not to arouse suspicion. Neither he nor Willow had spent much time in classes lately and since they were technically still high school students it probably would have been smart to show up every once in awhile, try to pass a few tests and quizzes. But school was the last thing on their minds and Willow had expressed no concern, so he didn’t let himself worry about it. Besides, his redhead was a top rate hacker and all around computer gal. If they got desperate, she could always forge their grades. Principal Snyder was scary, but the First won hands down when it came to who was the biggest evil. If he had to miss school to work on a way to stop the First, then so be it. Although this was one of those rare occasions when he almost preferred schoolwork. 

His passing thought of attending good ole Sunnydale High was dismissed when he realized that Willow didn’t seem to be in a hurry to leave the house that morning. If she wasn’t going, neither was he. After the night they all had last night, they deserved a day off. Buffy was probably cutting class today too. But she cut class a lot, so who’s really keeping track anyway? Giles would probably be the only one responsible enough to show up that day, but he didn’t really count considering he got paid for going. 

If they actually paid students to attend class, Xander had to admit, he might actually show up on occasion. Sadly, that wasn’t the case. 

So he spent the day at home, or rather at Willow’s home. His parents couldn’t care less where he spent his days and nights so long as he made an occasional appearance and Willow’s parents practically lived out of a suitcase, so they were never here to lecture their daughter for letting a boy stay over. 

He ate breakfast, a modest bowl of Fruit Loops and a glass of orange juice. He watched television. He said a brief, somewhat stilted hello to Willow when she finally came downstairs, looking more rested but still a bit worse for wear. She slipped into the kitchen and he presumed she too had something to eat if the dishes in the sink were anything to go by. Then she disappeared upstairs once more and he heard the shower running. The only other time he saw here was when she trudged downstairs for lunch. The rest of the day she spent hidden in her room.

Xander sighed and reached for the remote laying next to him on the couch and turned off the television, the screen flickering before going black. One final look out the window told him that, yes, it was now after sundown. While he had no problem ditching school in the morning, he couldn’t shirk his responsibilities now. Buffy, Giles and, he thought with a grimace, Angel would be waiting for him. Tonight they needed to work on strategy before they went out in search of Ethan Rayne and, in turn, the First. 

Pushing himself up off the couch, he absentmindedly brushed down his crumb laden Hawaiian shirt and grabbed the house keys on the end table, placing them in his pocket as assurance that he wouldn’t accidentally lock himself out of the house. 

He paused at the front door, a hand running through his clean but messy dark brown locks. Should he call out a goodbye? Leave Willow a note before he left? Or just walk out the door, knowing that if she wanted to find him, she knew where he would be? 

It saddened him to realize that they had come to this. That his best friend in the whole world, the girl that knew him in and out and that he knew like the back of his hand, were so uncomfortable around each other now. He shouldn’t even be considering how or if he should say goodbye because she should be going with him. But she wasn’t coming to the library with him and even the thought of hugging her goodbye seemed weird, like she might not welcome the gesture. 

Ignoring that voice in his head that told him just to yell goodbye and walk out the door, he climbed the stairs, stopping in front of her closed bedroom door and, after a deep breath, knocking on the thick planks of wood. 

There was a moment of silence then he could hear her moving about inside, her footsteps getting louder as she headed for the door. 

It swung open a second later and Willow smiled up at him, shaky but genuine. She was wearing a simple pair of jeans and an orange t-shirt and was just putting on a lightweight black jacket as she peered up at him, waiting for whatever he was here to say.

“Hey,” he smiled tightly.

“Hi,” she returned, voice low and hesitant. 

“I just wanted to let you know that I’m about to leave,” Xander informed her, shuffling his feet awkwardly. “I have to meet Buffy and the gang at the library.” Even saying that felt off. ‘The gang’. They weren’t ‘the gang’ anymore. Not without Willow. 

“Okay,” she nodded, leaning on the doorframe. 

“You know,” he said casually, “you could come with. I know you have been feeling left out and I’m sorry about that, Will. But we really could use you--” 

“I can’t,” she apologized softly.

“Please Will,” he tried again. “Just tonight. If you don’t want to come back, that’s fine. But could you give it a try, for me?”

“I really can’t Xander,” Willow murmured. “I--it’s just--” she stammered, looking away nervously before bringing her gaze back to him. She sighed heavily, mentally preparing herself for a possible rant. “Spike’s coming over. So I’m sorry Xander, I really am, but I can’t.”

She could see he was doing his best not to yell. She had to admire his restraint knowing that, when it came to vampires and Angel and Spike more specifically, he was quite vocal with his displeasure. His face was getting a little splotchy and she was pretty sure he was biting the inside of his cheek, but he remained quiet.

“So…Spike?” he drawled, shoving his hands in his pockets and looking down at the floor. 

“We’ve been over this Xander,” Willow sighed, running a hand over her face and looking at him pleadingly. “You don’t have to like it, but that’s the way it is. He and I have a deal and we need all the help we can get.”

“What’s the bleached wonder got that I don’t?” he griped. That sounded petulant and pathetic even to his own ears, but her association with Spike, evil, chipless, soulless Spike, irked him like nothing else. 

“Connections,” she listed blandly, “minions, fangs that scare the hell out of people, you want me to continue?” 

“Not necessary,” he mumbled. He checked his watch and licked his lips anxiously. “I’ve got to go,” he said quietly. “If you and Junior get done early, you know where I’ll be.”

“Bye Xander,” she dismissed with a whisper before she slipped back inside her bedroom and shut the door firmly. 

“Bye Will,” he murmured, turning on his heel slowly and starting down the stairs, his steps slow and forced.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Buffy had a bad feeling. She didn’t know what was causing it but it had pervaded her dreams the night before and hadn’t left her since. It was a feeling of foreboding, a heavy weight in the pit of her stomach that wouldn’t lessen, but persisted until she could ignore it no more. 

Sitting in the library with nothing but a book and a preoccupied Watcher to keep her company certainly didn’t help. She had tried to distract herself by studying her nails, reading magazines, at one point she had even resorted to studying, but none of it helped. 

Giles seemed too distracted to notice whatever was bothering her, his nose firmly planted in one of many books. 

The clock struck seven and she found herself looking to the double doors in front of the library, still sitting idle. Angel should be there any minute now, not to mention Xander. They had pretty much given up hope of Willow joining them anytime soon. Xander was still trying, bless his heart, but the redhead was stubborn. Willow wanted to be by herself.

Except she wasn’t by herself. No, Willow was with Spike. The thought brought a disgusted grimace to her lips. After they had left Willy’s, Xander had tried, even though he looked just as disgruntled as she, to make her understand where Willow was coming from. Why Willow would even think of teaming up with Spike, of all people. But there wasn’t anything he could say to make her understand. Spike had no redeeming qualities in her eyes. 

Part of her was worried about the problems Spike might cause. He was a loose cannon, a variable they didn’t need in this fight, and most definitely wouldn’t be welcomed in their group. But Willow had decided she didn’t want to fight beside them so Spike could be her concern. Buffy was washing her hands of it.

But if it even looked like he was double-crossing her she’d stake him in the blink of an eye and apologize to Willow later. 

There was a soft noise that brought her attention to the now swinging doors of the library, he countenance brightening as she sat up straighter, hoping Angel would be walking through those doors. 

Xander pushed the doors aside and stepped inside the rather barren library, giving Buffy a small smile as he dropped his bag on the floor by the counter and made his way over to table in the center of the room. 

Her shoulders had slumped a bit when she noticed it was him. It wasn’t that Buffy wasn’t happy to see him, she was, but she had been hoping the vampire would be there the moment the sun had set. They still weren’t on the best of terms, but they were slowly getting better, rebuilding what they had, and she always looked forward to spending time with him. Patrol wasn’t the same without him.

“We getting started?” Xander whispered as he leaned over his chair toward her, being quiet for Giles’ sake.

“Soon,” she murmured, eyes going to the clock.

The next time her gaze drifted toward the wall clock above the doors an hour had passed.

Still no Angel.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow was seated on the steps of her porch, her tiny form illuminated under the yellow porch light. Her knees were tucked close to her chest and her jacket wrapped firmly around her to stave off the cool night air. 

“Sitting by yourself at night in Sunnydale,” tsked a low, husky voice, the soft accent familiar. “You’re either really brave or really stupid, pet.” 

“I prefer the former,” Willow grinned lightly as she rested her chin on her knees, looking up at the sinewy, black clad vampire who slowly made his way out of the dark and toward the porch. “But it’s probably the latter.”

Spike smirked and joined her on the steps, stretching his legs out and leaning back, resting his weight on his elbows. “Xapper here?” 

“No,” she said softly, regret lacing her voice. “He left a little while ago.” There was a stretch of silence and Spike eyed her studiously. 

“What’s the matter, love?” he asked curiously.

“He tried to get me to come to the library with him,” Willow admitted, staring off into the distance even though she could feel Spike’s gaze on her. “But I told him no. I just--I feel like I’m letting him down, you know? Like I’m letting them all down.”

“They let you down, pet,” he murmured quietly. 

“Maybe I overreacted,” she hedged.

“Having regrets, Red?” he nearly sneered, his defenses on high. “Sorry you made a deal with the devil? Want to run back to the Scabby gang?”

“No,” she denied with a hard glare. “Remorse, guilt, ever heard of those? Us humans feel that every once in awhile. They’re my friends and I’m shutting them out. I just feel bad, okay? I won’t mention it again,” she assured him stiffly. 

“Bloody hell,” he muttered, rolling his eyes and sitting up straighter, turning to face her. “Look Red, Willow, I’m--oh bollocks, I’m sorry,” he spat out with a grimace. 

She couldn’t help but smile a little at the look on his face when he said that, loathing and disgruntled, but he had said it and she appreciated the effort. She nodded silently, a sign that it was forgiven. 

He grunted as he situated himself on the porch steps, adjusting his duster so it lay smoothly as they observed yet another moment of silence, this one not so tense.

“You ready to go?” he wondered, seeing her still staring off into space. He had planned to hit a few bars, see if anyone had seen hide or hair of Ethan Rayne. Willow had mentioned that they guy lacked subtlety when it came to hiding out. Someone in town had to have seen him. The sooner they tracked down where he had been, they could find where he was.

“In a minute,” she mumbled, taking a moment to just gather her thoughts. 

Spike bowed his head, allowing her this time with her thoughts. He sat beside her, watching as her eyes fluttered shut and she let out a slow breath. Whatever had been going on with her and Xander since he had left her the night before was taking its toll on her.

He saw his hand leave his side, as if he had no real control of the movement, fingers threading their way through her hair in slow, smooth strokes, a comforting motion and she, without much thought, leaned into the touch. 

“Well…” drawled a highly amused, dark voice. “Isn’t this cute?”

Spike’s hand dropped back to his side and Willow’s head shot up, ignorant of the sneer that crossed the blonde’s face as their unwelcome guest made his way out of the shadows.

“Peaches,” Spike growled scornfully.

Willow took in the clothes, the silk, the leather, and the smirk pasted across the face of her onetime friend and the breath was stolen from her body. This wasn’t supposed to happen, more importantly, how the hell did this happen? He and Buffy weren’t even together! She was coming to the conclusion that the Powers that Be hated her. “Shit.” 

 

Chapter Forty-Two: 

 

Willow was on her feet in the blink of an eye and Spike followed her movements with curious, disdainful eyes. Gaze narrowing until his eyes were just icy blue slits glaring at anyone who dared look upon them, Spike slowly copied her earlier movements, gracefully lifting himself off the porch steps. While his eyes were on Willow, who was looking strangely much like a deer in headlights, all his attention was on Angel. 

The Poof certainly had no business here at the Rosenberg house, not that it had stopped him before. Angel was like a dog with a bone when he wanted something, and he had been dying to know all of Willow’s secrets since it had become apparent that she was hiding things from her little gang. A boastful smirk almost blossomed on his lips when he thought of that. She didn’t trust any of her pathetic little friends with her secrets, at least not the ones Xapper hadn’t forced into light, but she told him everything. Not just all the changes that happened in this reality, not just about the spell and the First, but she confided in him, told him how she felt, things she could never tell her friends, hell they were usually the problem. But he reigned in his impulse to throw that in Angel’s face, for two reasons really. One being that Angel wasn’t really one of her friends, not this time around, and the second being that Willow looked a smidgen worried, and that alone was cause for alarm. She hadn’t been scared of his sire before, had even slammed a door in the prat’s face once. Why the sudden change? 

“Gee Spike,” Angel drawled, the secretive grin pasted on his pale face grating on the other vampire’s nerves, “I never thought I’d find you comforting some human, one you didn’t plan to eat that is…not really your style.”

“Bugger off,” the bleached blonde snarled, his posture straightening at the attack on his character, “You’re one to talk. At least I’m not snogging them, and the slayer no less, Paingel.”

Willow stifled the urge to remind him that just a few nights ago they had been making out in the back of Willy’s like some horny teenagers, which technically she was, and merely settled for glaring at him halfheartedly in exasperation, before remembering just where they were, and more importantly, who they were with. 

“He’s not Angel,” she announced blandly, proud that despite the knot in her stomach, she had managed to say that with nary a tremble of fright or worry.

Spike turned toward her, his expression one of incredulity. ‘You’ve officially lost it,’ his face said, from the widen eyes to the arch of his scarred brow, ‘can’t you see that prig standing right in front of us?’ 

Angel’s expression, in contrast, was one of contemplation and curiosity, but the almost proud smile that played at his lips puzzled her. It was almost as if he admired her for being able to figure it out so quickly. 

“Uh, pet?” Spike hissed warily, trying to keep his eye on both his loathsome sire and the apparently crazy redhead at his side.

“He’s Angelus,” she informed him dryly, her gaze focused wholly on the dark vampire, too tired and annoyed of Spike’s doubtful expression. Those looks were more reserved for Drusilla and she found herself almost resentful of being the recipient of such a pathetic, piteous stare. 

Spike was readying to argue when a simple question tumbling from Angel’s mouth shut him up with a start. 

“How’d you know?” the formerly souled vampire wondered, honestly curious. Spike looked from his smiling sire, to the expressionless, hard-looking redhead, and back, eyes wide and mouth slightly agape. His now soulless sire was standing here, having a nice little chat with one closed off witch. Gee, maybe *he* was the crazy one.

“Come on,” she nearly tsked in disappointment, her arms crossed protectively across her chest, hip cocked to one side, hair falling loosely at her shoulders as she stared down the rather sharply attired demon. “The silk shirt, the leather pants, that smirk,” she listed in a bored tone. “Were you trying to be obvious, or are you that oblivious?”

The almost amused grin that had been across Angel’s lips fell as he scowled, not taking the insult lightly. Seeing the anger on his sire’s face, Spike found himself instinctively stepping in front of the tiny redhead, affording her a little more protection in case Angelus decided to unleash any of his legendary wrath. 

Angel’s scowl turned into a grimace of disgust at Spike’s protective display and he shook his head in repulsion.

“You playing knight now, Spikey?” he taunted in revulsion, his expression utterly disdainful as he decided to ignore the witch in favor of his errant childe. “I had heard rumors, but I never thought I’d see the day when you were house broken,” he sneered.

“House broken?” Spike growled, his eyes flickering a dangerous amber. “Better than being the slayer’s bloody lap dog, eh Peaches? That’s just pathetic.”

“At least I had an excuse, Blondie,” he snapped, eyes flashing. “I had a soul shoved down my throat. What’s your excuse? You want to talk pathetic? How about William the Bloody becoming the personal errand boy to some little girl? Now that’s pathetic. Or are you actually getting something out of this little arrangement?” he wondered with a conspiratorial whisper, a large smirk snaking its way across his face. “Is she really that good of a lay, Spikey?” 

It took Willow’s surprising strong restraining hand to keep him from flying across the front yard and pummeling the prat until he couldn’t open his bloody mouth anymore. Spike just had to settle for growling menacingly, giving up any pretense of his human mask, allowing his demonic features to appear with that swift, slightly sickening noise of bones moving and shifting. 

“I guess that’s a yes then,” Angel chuckled darkly.

“Shut up,” Willow warned him, voice low and threatening, but he took it in stride, a little amused by her display. The redhead glanced at the still seething Spike who she was now nearly completely pressed up against in an attempt to keep him in one spot and hissed an urgent, “Calm down!” 

He didn’t look down at her, or acknowledge her at all other than to force down his demonic ridges and retract his fangs. It wasn’t much, if the fury in his eyes was anything to go by, but it was something. 

Willow’s attention turned back to the vampire standing at the edge of walk to her porch, who found himself watching her curiously as she almost studied him. “How did this happen?” she asked, honestly confused about that, voice steady but lost. 

“That’s the $64,000 question, isn’t it?” Angel smirked as he uncrossed his arms, letting one hand trail suggestively down the line of his torso, gliding effortlessly over the slick leather, before coming to rest on his belt. “Went to bed, all good and souled, woke up in pain, and then it’s gone. All gone. Thought you might know something about it…”

“Me?” she questioned as Spike eyed her almost suspiciously. 

“Well you are the resident witch,” Angel reminded her with that same irritating smile. “And lets be honest, nobody trusts you. Angel didn’t, Buffy and Giles don’t, and even Xander doesn’t know what to think about you anymore.”

“I hate to disappoint you, but I’ve got enough problems right now without your not-so-better half running around, and frankly I just haven’t had the time to un-curse you, so sorry, it wasn’t me,” she informed him tightly, the shake of her voice barely detectable. 

“No need to get testy,” Angel backed off with a low chuckle, “I just wanted to know if I had you to thank for this. No harm, no foul, hmm? Personally, I really don’t give a damn who did this, as long as this change is of a more--permanent nature.”

“Trust me, you really shouldn’t get too comfortable Angelus,” Willow warned ominously. “You won’t be in control for long.”

Angel’s dark eyes narrowed at the blatant threat but there were no other outward signs of his displeasure. His hands still remained lazily seated upon his waist, that smirk permanently etched across his face. 

“You been practicing gypsy curses, little girl?” he taunted, becoming aware of Spike once again as the blonde reasserted himself between him and the girl, not liking the threatening glares Angelus was sending the redhead’s way. 

“Hear that Spikey?” Angel turned his attention to his prodigal childe, still maintaining a calculated distance between himself and the couple on the porch steps. “You might want to watch out for that one,” he said with a flick of the head toward Willow, “get her mad and she might stick you with a soul.” 

Spike couldn’t help but blanch at the thought but Willow just rolled her eyes in exasperation at Angelus’ typical melodramatic fashion. 

“Although,” Angel contemplated with a darkly pleased grin, “if you could curse a vampire with a soul, it would come to question why you haven’t done it already. Not to me,” he clarified, “but to Spike here. I’m sure he would be much more--pliable--with a conscience.”

Willow shifted anxiously and Spike glanced down at her, seeing the nervousness that she had fought this whole time finally come to the surface. 

“But since you haven’t turned my childe into a simpering fool, or at least more of one than he already is,” he added, thoroughly enjoying Spike’s angry snarl, “that tells me that you don’t have the curse. That you’re all talk and no follow through, and that’s just disappointing Willow,” he admitted with sincere regret. “I almost wish you did have the curse, it would definitely make things more interesting.”

Angry at herself that he had seen through her bluff so easily, Willow failed to think of any sort of comeback, her eyes falling from Angel’s to the dirty ground below her feet. It hadn’t been much of a bluff, she had to admit. But what Angel still didn’t know was that she hadn’t meant that she was going to be the one who had the pleasure of ramming his soul down his throat; no she would leave that to Miss Calendar. And she certainly had no intention of letting that little piece of information slip out. Although, that entire plan rested on the notion that the computer teacher still had some of the old gypsy writings. There had been numerous differences between the old Sunnydale and this new and not so improved version and if that had changed as well, Willow wasn’t sure what she was going to do first, have a nervous breakdown or scream. 

“Don’t look so sad, Will,” Angel mocked, voice low and inviting at the same time. “It was a valiant effort, really. If I didn’t know you better, I might have fallen for it.”

“It doesn’t matter,” she assured him, her cold tone matching the icy expression on her face, “I’ll find a way to bring Angel back.” While she and the souled vampire weren’t really on speaking terms at the moment, at least he didn’t spend his evenings planning her untimely death. Or at least she hoped he didn’t. 

“I’m sure you’ll try,” he shrugged nonchalantly; “you’re all kinds of resourceful. No matter, it will just make the game more fun,” he grinned salaciously. “But I should let you in on a little secret,” he added, leaning in conspiratorially, “I never lose.”

“First time for everything mate,” Spike chimed in, sick of being left out and eager to jump into the verbal fray.

“You’re still here?” Angel sighed in irritation as his dark eyes slipped to the tightly-wound blonde. “Don’t tell me Spike, you’re going to be the little witch’s knight in shining armor? Keep her safe from all my nasty, nefarious plans?” he chortled.

“Not usually one for saving the damsel in distress, but why not? Might be fun, not to mention the added bonus of kicking your pasty arse,” he snarked, cocking his head to the side in amusement.

“I’d like to see you try,” Angel returned with a sneer, “I taught you everything you know, boy.”

“Learned a few things while you’ve been gone,” Spike warned him with a cocky smirk, “It’s been a long century. Even got me a couple of slayers, don’t see that anywhere on your resume, Peaches.”

Willow couldn’t help but roll her eyes at the purely male posturing and even Angel seemed rather unimpressed by Spike’s taunting. 

“As fun as this is Spikey,” he glared at the shorter blonde, “I’m feeling a bit peckish and I haven’t had a decent meal in centuries,” he groaned in earnest, garnering a bored but mildly disappointed look from Spike, he had been hoping for a good brawl after all, and a disgusted grimace from Willow. “I think I’ll get a bite to eat and then…who knows?” He pondered with a sly smile, “Maybe I’ll pay Dru a visit. I’m sure she’ll welcome me properly.”

“Stay away from her, you prat,” Spike growled. Obviously Drusilla was still a sensitive topic with him and Angel definitely knew how to push his buttons.

“Now, now Spikey,” Angel sighed with a cluck of his tongue. “You can’t be everyone’s protector. Dru or Willow, can’t be both. You could try though, do your best to watch over them both, but you’ll have to leave sometime, and Red here will be all alone. That’s all I need.” 

Spike couldn’t even form words, the anger within him so violent and for the first time in a long while Willow found herself nervous in his company. But Angel’s words had rung true within Spike and it was becoming apparent to him that he would have to choose, her or Drusilla. Willow wasn’t surprised, and honestly she knew what his decision would be. She knew he’d pick Drusilla, and she was fine with it. She was a witch after all; she could take care of herself. Besides, she had lived through a few Angelus rampages in her lifetime, she’d be just fine. Hopefully. 

“Are you done?” Willow spoke up, both vampires snapping their heads in her direction. “’Cause the empty threats are getting a little tired. Trust me; it takes a lot more than your egomaniacal bluster to get my knees a-shaking.” 

“So confident,” Angel simply chuckled as he began to slowly back away from the low light of the porch, his form growing darker and more indistinct with every step. “I’ll definitely being seeing you, Will,” the wink he gave her was obvious even in the poor lighting. “And give Buff my regards, will you?” he called out; voice almost jovial as he disappeared and they simply watched him go. 

They stood there, her and a still fuming Spike, for a long moment after he had vanished into the night. The anti-climax that their encounter resulted in left her feeling more than a little at a loss. 

“What do we do now?” she murmured, almost numbly.

“Guess shaking down the locals is off for the night,” Spike sniped, voice low and tense. 

“I-I need to go to the library,” she decided, talking more to herself than anyone else, still caught up in a post-adrenaline rush and slight shock. “I need to tell them--to warn them.” 

“Come on,” he grunted as he started suddenly, shoving his body away from the porch and striding with impatient steps down the walkway and onto the sidewalk, Willow rushing catch up with him, the closed expression on his face not giving her any clue as to his thoughts. 

“You’re coming with me?” she asked, trying to discern his actions. Was he actually planning to come with her to tell her friends, friends she hadn’t had kind words with in who knows how long and were extremely resentful of his presence in her life? 

“Can’t let you walk alone now, can I?” he snapped, obviously more bothered by Angelus’ threats then he let on earlier. “I’ll take you to the bloody library.”

So he was staying with her. It was an interesting thought, one she hadn’t really considered. She had expected him to drop everything and run to Drusilla. They may not have been involved this time around, but they shared a close bond, she knew. She never dreamed he’d choose her over his childlike companion. It was a weird feeling, but she reluctantly had to admit, it was kind of nice; warm, almost familiar, but strangely nice.

They reached the high school after a walk in complete silence, the tension in his shoulders making him look stiff and intimidating. “You okay to go in?” he asked, tone still icy, but there was obvious concern there.

Smiling weakly, knowing that it was better if he didn’t come in with her and glad that he appeared to know that as well, Willow nodded. “Yeah…”

“Good,” he said shortly, eyes suddenly distant and distracted as they hovered outside the double doors to Sunnydale High. “Your pals can walk you home, I’ve gotta…go.”

“Oh,” Willow nodded dumbly, watching as he patted himself down in search of a cigarette and his lighter, taking a drag and releasing a calming puff of smoke before he offered her a curt nod and turned on his booted heel, leaving her alone on the steps. 

That nice feeling that had come over her disappeared as quickly as it came. 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Three:

 

This was a weird feeling, Willow admitted to herself as she lingered outside the closed library doors. There was murmuring on the other side, assuring her that Xander, Buffy, and Giles were there. It was probably Xander who was talking up a storm in there; he did that kind of thing. Chatter on just to avoid the silence. It was a habit she probably picked up from him when they were little, hence her signature Willow-babbles. 

She had tried to walk in once already, but her feet stopped mere inches away from her target and her hand, once outstretched toward the doors, fell back to her side. She couldn’t remember a more uncomfortable feeling than standing there, just a stone’s throw away from the people she called friends, people who either looked at her with eyes full of guilt or betrayal these days. 

But this was no time for dawdling; she reminded herself as she straightened her back, stiffened her shoulders and clenched her fists, almost as if she was preparing for battle. Her petty insecurities paled in comparison to everything that was going on and more than anything Buffy deserved to know what she would have to face soon enough. The Slayer was having a hard enough time dealing with Ethan Rayne and the emergence of the First, but she was handling it. But the revelation that Angel was no longer in possession of a soul, was no longer the man she had come to love had the potential to eventually push her over the edge and they simply couldn’t afford that. How she was going to keep that from happening she wasn’t sure, but even if it required more secrets she would do it. She was willing to play the villain of the piece.

There had never been a more deafening silence than the one that fell over the occupants of the library when the double doors swung open and the tiny redhead walked inside, slightly hunched over and wrapped up tightly in her coat, the garment appearing as almost a shield in front of her. 

Giles stopped mid-pace, book still open in his hand, glasses hanging precariously between two fingers as his attention was brought to the door and lips parted in surprise when he noticed who the newcomer was. Eventually, he realized staring wasn’t exactly proper and he straightened, clearing his throat somewhat awkwardly and slipping his glasses back on.

Buffy appeared to be just as taken aback as her Watcher. From her seat atop the counter, the Slayer sat up at attention, eyes wide but her mouth remained shut as she seemed to study the witch lingering in the doorway. After what felt like forever, there was a slight slouching in her posture, her shoulders more relaxed, and she attempted a small, if a bit strained, welcoming smile. 

It took Xander a minute to get in the game but soon enough he was smiling, tight but hopeful, from his seat at the large table in the center of the room. “Will…hey,” he greeted her as he dropped the book he had been pretending to read and focused all his attention on his recently distant best friend. “Come to join the party?”

“Doesn’t look like much of a party atmosphere,” she half-smiled, her reply awkward and stilted. 

“You just missed all the fun,” Buffy joined in, rolling her eyes at Xander, “it was raging in here like five minutes ago.”

“Damn,” Willow mumbled with a teasing grin and at the sight Xander began to relax. It felt like old times right then, and it had been so long. 

“Well stroll on over, find a seat, and crack open a book,” he advised, patting the seat beside him eagerly. “The night is young and we can’t leave for patrol until Deadboy moseys on over,” he confessed, completely missing Willow’s look of panic. “Seriously, I’m buying him a watch…and a bell. A watch and a bell, that way he’ll be at the library on time and he won’t be able to sneak up on me when he gets here.” 

“Xan, I don’t think Angel tries to scare you on purpose,” Buffy sighed in exasperation as she once again had to defend her sort-of-boyfriend to Xander. 

“You *have* met Angel, haven’t you?” he retorted with a bored expression. “I think he gets his jollies from scaring the crap out of me.”

“Guys--” Willow interrupted, knowing an argument like this could go on for an eternity, her eyes firmly planted on her scuffed shoes as she tried to work up the courage to explain to them why she was really there.

“Hey, what’s with the face, Will? You look like someone ran over your puppy or something.”

“Ew, thanks for that image Xander,” Buffy grimaced and even Willow had to second her response. 

“Um,” she stammered a bit, unsure where to start, “when was Angel supposed to get here?”

“Sunset, about an hour ago,” Buffy shrugged, attempting to appear nonchalant, but Willow could see the worry and paranoia that practically surrounded her. “But he’ll be here, he probably just ran into a little trouble on the way,” she tried to reassure them all, but mostly herself. Even Giles sent his Slayer a sympathetic look. “He’ll be here.” 

“No, I don’t think he will,” Willow said, her voice anxious and tense.

“W-What? Why would he not come here?” Giles interjected with a concerned glance toward Buffy, whose eyes were wide and worried. Xander shared in their concern, but watching the redhead carefully he knew something was up, and more than that he wasn’t going to like what she was going to tell them.

“Angel is--gone,” she stumbled over her words, frowning at her rather inept response and inwardly cringing at Buffy’s now terrified expression. Good going Will, she chastised herself, make the girl panic, that will make everything better.

“Not *gone*, gone,” she rushed to clarify, her eyes darting between Xander, Buffy, and Giles at a frantic pace, hoping to calm them. “I mean, I just saw him so he can’t be *gone*. He’s just…not himself at the moment…and…” 

“Will!” Xander interrupted her ramblings, sliding out his chair and taking slow, calculating steps toward the flustered witch. “Take a breath; you’re freaking us out here. Now, are you saying…?”

“I’m *saying* he’s not *Angel* anymore, Xander,” she replied, stressing her words purposely and carefully. Her green eyes, wide and urgent, met his and she saw the beginnings of realization bloom in his dark eyes. 

“Oh,” he mumbled numbly, stumbling backwards and falling back into his chair, exhaling sharply. “How?” he eventually asked, staring up at his best friend solemnly. “Wait! You two didn’t make with the--” he yelped with a sickly glance at Buffy.

“Xander!” Willow stopped him with an anxious squeak, giving him a pointed look. “Focus.”

“Right,” he said soberly, “um…”

“Hey, care to share with the rest of the class?” Buffy jumped in, sliding off the counter and landing with a solid thud, the heels of her boots hitting the tile floor harshly. Her expression was irritated to say the least, but Willow couldn’t blame her. This was Angel they were talking about, Buffy’s soul mate and all around love of her life; she had a right to be a little pissed off. Not to mention she obviously wasn’t going about this whole thing in the best way. 

Even Xander seemed to be reminded of the severity of the situation when he caught the look on Buffy’s face, a combination of anger, frustration, and undisguised panic. 

“Buffy…” Willow sighed softly, taking a step toward her friend. No matter their latest riff and the uncomfortable encounters between them, she knew this was going to be hard on the slayer and she would trade places with her and deal with the pain herself if she could have. 

Xander and Giles watched in almost rapt attention as the anger drained out of the blonde’s face as she truly began to comprehend the sadness and pity on her rather distant friend’s face. This was serious, she was beginning to realize. Life changing even. 

“Buffy--I--saw Angel tonight but--” the redhead stammered and stuttered, knowing there was no good way to put it.

“Like a band-aid Will,” she whispered, encouraging the only way she could to just get whatever it was over with. She couldn’t stand the not knowing any longer.

“His soul is…gone,” the witch admitted roughly, a truly sympathetic pained expression crossing her pale face. 

There was a long beat of complete silence, not even the low sound of breathing could be heard in the wide expanse of the library. Xander’s head hung low, shuffling his feet awkwardly, hardly surprised but at the same time it was hard to watch his friend in pain.

Giles was struggling to form words, his jaw slack, glasses teetering precariously in the grasp of his fingers as his lips tried their best to create words but he still remained silent. He was alternating between disbelief and shock, but utter denial and disbelief seemed to be winning out. 

Buffy’s reaction was completely different than all the others though. 

First there was nothing but total, devastated silence. But not a heartbeat later laughter filled the air. It started off small, a tiny, tentative chuckle of disbelief and it steadily grew into full, throaty laughter that echoed off the walls.

“Buff…” Xander stepped in; sharing a worried glance with Willow as he slowly approached the now quieting blonde. 

“No,” she stopped him, raising a hand in front of her to keep him from approaching any further.

“Buffy,” Willow tried, not moving from her spot but looking to her friend with pleading eyes. “I know you don’t want to believe me but--”

“No,” she denied tightly, her lips thinning and her eyes glassy as she obviously struggled to hold in tears. “You’re lying.” 

“I’m not,” the redhead swore vehemently, never breaking her gaze with the slayer. “You know I’m not.”

“It’s not possible, he was *cursed*,” she swore, holding on desperately to her belief.

“Yes,” Willow agreed softly. “But curses and spells can be broken. You know that. You’ve *got* to believe me,” she pleaded, praying that she would listen and understand the warning in her voice. “I don’t know how it happened, honestly, but it’s true. Angel…you can’t even think of him as Angel. He’s…” she took a deep breath before continuing on. 

“There’s no soul left Buffy,” she sighed raggedly. “He’s a killer; he’s more dangerous than you know. You can’t…thinking of him as Angel will only get you killed--eventually. He likes to play games first…”

“You sound like you’re speaking from experience,” Buffy murmured, an almost bitter tinge to her tone. “More secrets Will?” 

“I’ve dealt with him before,” she admitted with a solemn bow of her head.

“*We’ve* dealt with him before,” Xander corrected her, taking his place beside his childhood best friend, displaying the solidarity between the two of them that Willow had been so worried was lost forever. It was a move that almost made the tears welled up in the witch’s eyes to spill over. 

“In the *other* Sunnydale…” Buffy surmised tonelessly.

“Yes,” she acknowledged quietly. 

“So this happened before?” the blonde pressed, not even bothering to hide the tears making their way down her cheeks. There was no use denying it, Willow wouldn’t lie about something so important, wouldn’t toy with her emotions like that. If what she said was true, Angel was gone. And apparently Willow should have seen it coming. What happened to all the so-called prophetic but oh so cryptic statements the girl used to make with when evil was afoot? They had one fight, a big one she would admit, and that was it? Did she keep this from her out of some sense of spite, payback? 

“No,” Willow denied without missing a beat, straightening at the accusing tone in the girl’s voice. “It happened before…Angel lost his soul, yes, but it wasn’t because of some spell.”

“How?” she whispered brokenly.

“Buffy it’s not important, what’s important--” Xander attempted to calm her.

“*How*?” she demanded, voice rising to a near yell, shocking even her still stoic watcher.

“His curse has a clause,” Willow revealed reluctantly, taking heed of Xander’s worried glance her way and choosing to forge ahead. “If Angel were ever to experience even a moment of true happiness, then as punishment he would lose his soul.”

“Sort of the gypsy equivalent of the good ole one fingered salute,” Xander murmured, earning him a raised brow on behalf of Giles, the girls paid him no mind.

“A moment’s happiness? That’s how it happened before?” Buffy asked, more to herself than Willow. “How--what did it?”

“Buffy--” she tried to stave her off, but the slayer would not be denied. “You and he were…together,” she explained awkwardly, “in the uh, biblical sense,” Willow cringed at her own reply and Giles couldn’t contain a bright blush.

If anything Buffy looked more devastated. 

“I know you’re upset--” Willow tried to soothe the girl, but it backfired.

“Upset…upset!” Buffy shouted, anger taking the front as she shoved her sadness to the background. “This is all your fault,” she declared, including Xander in her hard glare when she spoke the damning words.

“I didn’t do the spell,” Willow fought to make her see the entire picture. “I swear I don’t know how this happened--”

“It doesn’t matter,” Buffy interrupted her with a fevered glare, the pain the shone in her eyes difficult for Xander and Willow to bear. “You did that spell, you messed with everything and thanks to you I’m knee deep in the First Evil, and now my boyfriend has joined the ranks of the evil undead. It doesn’t matter that you weren’t the one to take away his soul, if it wasn’t for you, if it wasn’t for your damn spell, this would never have happened.”

“Angel lost his soul the last time too,” Xander reminded her, stepping up when Willow failed to form words, her throat tight with emotion.

“But at least I had the memories!” she cried, her true pain shining through. “At least then we were together, and he knew I loved him, and I could remember what it was like to--be with him. This time I don’t even have that,” she finished bitterly, sniffling as her face slowly turned a blotchy red.

“Buffy…I’m so sorry--” Willow rasped, her throat closed up painfully.

“Did you fix it, last time?” Buffy demanded, cutting her off without apology. “Fix him?” 

“We were able to find a way,” Willow replied tentatively, “but it took a lot of work. To be honest Buffy, I don’t even know if the spell still exists…and even if it does, until I know how this happened, how his--soul--was removed, I don’t even know if the spell would work at all.”

“So that’s it, huh? We just--give up on him?” the blonde asked brokenly. 

“No,” Willow denied swiftly. “No one is giving up, but it won’t be easy--”

“Stop!” Buffy shouted, taking deep, heaving breaths as she tried to calm herself, eyes red and tears still dotting her face. “Just…stop. I…can’t…” she broke off, unable to listen to anymore, and she grabbed her jacket hastily before practically running out of the double doors of the library in a rush to get away from the news of her loss of Angel and the friends who had delivered it.

All eyes focused on the swinging doors that were slowing to a close. Willow’s gaze was distant, hurt as she bowed her head and closed her eyes tightly.

“She, uh, shouldn’t be alone out there,” the implied ‘not with Angel lurking around’ was unneeded. Sadly, she knew that her presence, and most likely that of Xander as well, would not be welcome.

“I’ll follow her.” The twosome nearly jumped out of their skin when Giles spoke up, alerting them to his presence after they had practically forgotten he was in the room. She and Xander nodded silently as the Englishman hurriedly gathered his things, most importantly a stake, and headed after his charge.

As the doors swung shut once again, Willow and Xander were left standing alone in the middle of the library, closed off expressions on both their faces as they tried to take everything in. 

It seemed almost surreal, as Willow took stock of the situation. She and Xander, side by side. No Buffy, no Angel, no Spike or Giles, in the end they were the ones left standing in the aftermath. No matter what else happened it always seemed to come full circle, that startling revelation that the only ones they could truly depend on were each other.

It was both comforting and absolutely devastating. 

 

 

Chapter Forty-Four:

 

The Rosenberg living room had seen many a stoic silences as of late, but none were more strained than this evening’s. Willow was curled up in her father’s worn in recliner, knees tucked to her chest; chin resting atop them as if the very effort of holding her head up was too much.

Xander, from his vantage point on the couch, watched his best friend with a worried gaze from the corner of his eye. He avoided blatantly staring at her, although he may have wished to, knowing that even now when she seemed at her lowest she was liable to smack him for it. 

“It wasn’t your fault.”

His declaration, the first words either one of them had spoken since they had left the library together, for the first time in months, in complete silence, rang through the lowly lit room as if he had shouted it.

Willow didn’t even flinch.

“You didn’t curse Angel,” Xander kept on, plowing on despite her ignoring of him. “You aren’t responsible for what someone else did. You aren’t the one to blame for all this, no matter what anyone else says.” 

“You mean no matter what Buffy says?” she countered softly. “She wasn’t wrong, Xand.” 

“Will--,” he interrupted quietly, but found himself at a loss for words. 

“No,” she stopped him, her voice more forceful than he had heard in a long time. “She’s has a right to feel the way she does. She’s allowed to be angry, she’s allowed to blame me…us. Things weren’t supposed to happen this way. Maybe life wasn’t perfect, wasn’t even close, but it was the natural order of things. We changed it all and they all are allowed to be mad. If we were in their shoes we would feel exactly the same way and you know it.” 

“So what now?” he asked, looking lost. 

“We don’t exactly have a lot of options Xander,” she reminded him unflinchingly. 

“So we’re on our own then? Is that what you’re saying?” he asked without anger or pettiness, just a soft utterance. 

“Sucks, doesn’t it?” she mumbled, a hint of bitterness creeping into her tone. Xander didn’t respond, knowing she had a reason for feeling the way she did and that he had a hand in making her feel that way to begin with. 

“Buffy hasn’t trusted me since she found out about the spell, neither has Giles, I’ve gotten used to it,” Willow admitted emotionlessly. “But she won’t abandon her fight against the First, even if she wanted to Giles wouldn’t let her. She has a duty; she won’t walk away from it.”

“She has before,” he interrupted her sharply, his voice harsher than he meant for it to be. “Or did you forget the last time Angel went psycho killer on us and Buffy had to fight him to save the world? How is it going to be any different this time, only much, much worse?” 

“She killed him Xander,” Willow said, giving him a small glare. “Maybe she didn’t dust him, but she ran him through with a sword and sent him to a hell dimension. No matter her feelings, no matter how much it hurt her especially since he had his soul,” she added with a stony glance. He still harbored a little guilt for that, for lying to Buffy, to Willow, and apparently Willow, who normally would have overlooked his part in sending Angel to hell since everything had eventually worked out in the end, was less forgiving or forgetful these days. 

“Buffy will fight the First,” she stated with absolute certainty. “And if she had to, she’d kill Angel. We both know this; you’re just too stubborn to admit it.”

“This isn’t stubbornness, Will,” he whispered almost shamefully, finally tearing his eyes away from her. 

Willow studied him closely, eyes gleaming with realization as she uncurled her body and in a few movements joined him on the sofa, hesitating for a moment before running a tentative hand through his slightly unkempt hair, fingering his locks gently in that soothing, Willowly manner only she seemed to possess. Xander’s eyes fell shut and he let out a hollow sigh. 

“You’re scared,” she said quietly, her voice matching the somber attitude that had replaced the anger and bitterness.

“Well this *is* me we’re talking about,” he reminded her with a humorless laugh. “Aren’t I always the one who advocates the running and hiding method of dealing with the big evils we come across?”

“It’s okay to be scared Xander,” she assured him, letting her hand fall and her arm drape comfortingly around his shoulders as she scooted closer to him and gently rested her head on his sweater covered shoulder. 

“The situation is…bad,” she admitted reluctantly. “But we’ve been through worse. We survived the First at its most powerful, and won.”

“And look what it cost us,” he murmured softly. “Anya and Spike died, so many potentials too, we barely escaped before the entire town collapsed on us…” he trailed off, his eyes looking dazed.

“Do you ever wonder…?” he mumbled, voice coming out like a breathy sigh. “Do you ever wonder how it would have turned out? If I hadn’t convinced you to do this spell, to send us here?”

“Sometimes,” Willow said so softly he barely heard her. 

“We could have been happy, I think. Eventually,” he continued, thinking out loud more than making actual conversation. “Maybe you and Kennedy would’ve been together, traveling the world.”

“Maybe even other dimensions,” she added with a distant half-smile. His lips crooked into a barely there grin. 

“Yeah,” he nodded. “Maybe I would’ve spread my wings a bit, you know? Explored? Maybe find a nice girl, who was not and never had been a demon of any sort, and settled down. Maybe had kids. I think I’d be a good dad, you know? I’d be the cool one, the one who all my kid’s friends wish they had…”

“Xander,” Willow sat up slowly, seeing the truly despondent expression on his face. He turned to her and she could see the rare glimpse of tears gathering in his eyes. 

“I screwed up,” he rasped, his throat tight, making it hard to swallow and speak. 

“You can’t take all the blame Xander,” she stopped him, raising a hand to caress his cheek, wiping away any moisture a stray tear may have left. 

“But I let you, didn’t I?” he admitted regretfully, a look of disgust crossing his face, twisting his features. “I should never have told them about the spell, not without you there. I panicked and…I should have trusted you. You wouldn’t be in this mess if it wasn’t for me and I let you take all the blame. I made you feel like you couldn’t trust me, like you couldn’t come to me. Maybe you were right…”

“You can’t do this Xander,” she shook her head sadly, sitting up straighter and gathering his hands in her own. “You can’t keep wondering ‘what if’. You can’t keep looking for somewhere to place the blame. It’s not going to get you anywhere. Trust me, I speak from experience,” she gave him a pained smile. 

“To be honest, I try not to think about the way things used to be,” Willow divulged, her gaze falling to her lap. “It doesn’t always work,” she added with a wry expression, “but it took me awhile to really realize that it’s pointless. I spent a lot of time being angry and hurt, and scared,” she admitted. “Not of the bringers, or the First, or Angel. I felt like we lost something when we did the spell, when we came here. Not just you and me, but all of us. 

“We used to be best friends, all of us; you, me and Buffy. We trusted each other completely. Giles was like our dad, our stuffy British dad but…” she added, hoping to get him to smile, and was relaxed when he let a hint of a grin turn up at the corners of his mouth. “But it’s not like that here. Buffy is more isolated, more wary, not that I blame her. So is Giles. And…*we’ve* changed Xander. Sometimes, yeah, I wish we could just reverse it and go back to how it used to be. But we have to face facts Xander. We made this choice, *we* did this, looking back only causes pain. We have to focus on here, on now. Now is all that matters. It’s you and me, Xan. You and me against the world.” 

“So what do we do now?” he asked, looking blatantly to her for all the answers. For once in a long while, it didn’t bother her that he was depending on her, because he finally trusted her. Looked to her for guidance without apprehension. 

“We trust Buffy and Giles to do their part,” she began, squeezing his hand before releasing it from her grip. “We don’t abandon them, but we give them their space. They…they’re going to need it and if that’s what it takes to fix things, then that’s what we’ll do.”

“Okay,” he nodded soberly. 

“You’re probably not going to like this next part,” she warned him, seeing him automatically tense at her words, “but I…I think it is necessary, so no angry but concerned brotherly lecture, okay?”

“I make no such promises,” he disagreed, causing her to roll her eyes, a rather absurd expression among all the seriousness. 

“Figures,” she muttered almost playfully, smiling tightly up at him. “I’m serious Xander though,” she sobered. “We’re going to need all the help we can get, and that means making some…alliances…that you may not approve of, but could be invaluable.”

“You’re talking about Spike,” he muttered, his jaw clenching. There was more to his hostility towards Spike than just the fact that he was a soulless vampire. It was a combination of things really if he cared to admit it. When he saw the bleached blonde, he also saw the person he had become, the man with a soul who made the ultimate sacrifice for love and honor. He may not have liked him, but there was respect there. To see him now, to see that soulless killer that he used to be, it was just a constant reminder of the damage he had caused. How one simple, pleading wish had returned the man he had become into the thing he fought so hard to leave behind. 

There was some resentfulness as well, he couldn’t deny that. Spike, a creature who killed for sport, was the one Willow had turned to during their rift. She had preferred to spend her nights in the company of a vampire with no soul than her friend. And the clincher, she had trusted Spike, when she believed she couldn’t trust him. That thought alone felt like in a kick in the stomach. And he wished he could blame her for it, be angry at her, but he couldn’t and it really sucked. 

“Yes, I’m talking about Spike,” she repeated firmly, cutting off any protestations he may have made before he could open his mouth to utter them. “The situation is going to be more difficult now that Angel is playing for the other team, but we can count on him. I know we can…we have to,” she trailed off, her voice losing its earlier surety. 

“What happens if Angel decides to step up, take over in Spike’s place?” Xander wondered, legitimately worried. 

“Then…we’ll have to get creative,” she grimaced, knowing it was a rather pathetic response. “If he isn’t in control, Spike will only have so much pull with the minions. Honestly, I never really counted on them to join in on the fight, but Spike was pretty sure he could corral them. If he isn’t in charge, then it’s safe to say he’ll be the only vampire on our side.”

“Will he?” Xander thought out loud, holding a hand up to stop her upcoming arguments. “I didn’t mean it like that Will, I just…you’re asking him to basically turn his back on the rest of his kind to jump to our aid. Let’s just say I wouldn’t want to be Spike, if that were the case. Even if we managed to win, he’s going to be considered a traitor. And you know Angel wouldn’t shed a tear if Junior got dusted, soul or not. It’s…suicide.”

“I’m not going to make him help us,” Willow murmured, Xander’s words swirling in her head. “But if he is willing to, I’m not going to refuse him. Besides, he has risked everything before, turned traitor to stop an apocalypse.” 

“Our Spike has, because of Drusilla, because he was so in love with her he couldn’t see straight,” he agreed solemnly. “But *this* Spike hasn’t. He had a reason to save the world before, but this time around he’s not even in love with Drusilla. I know he cares about her, but…I’m just saying, you’re expecting him to sacrifice everything and for what? He’s still a demon, Will. Which means no matter how nice and accommodating he can be he’s still selfish and self-serving. What’s in it for him? Why would he risk everything to help us?” 

“Because he promised me he would, we made a deal,” she said firmly. “Because I trust him.” 

And that was the crux of it, wasn’t it, Xander sighed inwardly. No matter what he said, no matter how valid his arguments were, Willow trusted Spike, don’t ask him why, and she wasn’t willing to abandon her belief in the vampire. He really, really hoped her trust wasn’t misplaced.

“I’ll take care of Spike,” Willow said with a short nod, pleased that he wasn’t truly fighting her on this. 

“And if Angel makes trouble for everyone?” he wondered. “If he becomes Master?” 

“We just have to make sure that doesn’t happen,” she replied with false confidence, trying her best to look pulled together amidst the worry, stress, and panic building inside her. 

“I guess this is where I am supposed to say ‘duh’,” he grunted. “How?”

“That’s where you come in,” she smiled shakily as he perked up. “I wasn’t lying to Buffy, until I find out how Angel lost his soul; I won’t know exactly how to fix it. That doesn’t mean that the curse I used last time won’t work.”

“That’s good news, isn’t it?” he asked when he noticed her hesitancy.

“In theory, yes,” she answered tentatively. “Except for the fact that we don’t *have* the curse, yeah, it’s good news.”

“Where exactly do I come into this?” Xander pressed.

“I’ve got to deal with Spike and find out how Angel managed to become soulless sans happy, I don’t have the time to find the curse, let alone translate it,” she explained.

“Ah, this is where all those childhood gypsy lessons come in handy,” he snorted in disbelief.

“I’m not asking *you* to translate them,” she glared at him halfheartedly. “You barely passed English Xander, you really expect me to believe you can translate ancient Romanian? Miss Calendar can, hopefully,” she grimaced. “As long as that hasn’t changed.”

“So how exactly does this involve me?” he wondered.

“You know what happened last time,” she whispered, throat tight with emotion as the memory swept over the both of them. “Your job is to make sure that doesn’t happen. When I said it was just you and me now Xand, I meant it. No one else can know about the curse except us and Jenny, not Buffy, not Giles, not even Spike. It would only put everyone in more danger. If Angel found out…”

“Yeah, I know,” he nodded pensively.

They sat there, on the couch side by side; taking everything in for a long moment before Xander once again took the initiative and broke the silence. 

“Will…” he sighed, sounding tired and much older than his years, “do you really think we can pull this off?” 

“We have to,” she replied, voice just as ragged and aged. “We don’t have a choice. We changed everything; it’s our job to fix it.” 

Licking her dry, chapped lips, Willow turned on the sofa to face Xander once more. Glancing at her he extended his arm and she smiled tiredly, sliding closer and tucking herself under his arm, just breathing in the comforting scent she always associated with Xander as she lay her head on her best friend’s shoulder. 

“Tomorrow you’re going to see Spike?” he mumbled, voice soft and sleepy.

“Yeah,” she said, her voice muffled by the material of his sweater. “Tomorrow you’ll talk to Miss Calendar?” 

“Yeah,” he sighed.

It was getting closer, the end. They both could feel it. The battle was drawing nearer, their long fight coming to a head once more. Tomorrow they would be on their own. Willow would find where Spike’s loyalties lay and get to the bottom of Angelus’ mysterious reappearance. He would confront Jenny Calendar about her true purpose in Sunnydale and do all he could to protect her as she deciphered the writings of her ancestors to put an end to Angelus’ reign. They had their missions, and soon they would stand side by side with Buffy, no matter how fractured their alliance and friendship was, and do what they had to fix the mess they made.

But they still had tonight left. 

“Will?” he murmured, his eyes drifting shut as exhaustion from the day’s events started to overcome him. He felt her move, her head shifting on his shoulder so she could see his face as she curled up more comfortably on the couch. “I love you, I just wanted you to know that,” he said softly.

He didn’t have to open his eyes to know she was smiling slightly, just a tiny, pleased tilt of the corners of her mouth that would draw small smile lines on her face. Her arms tightened around his waist as she squeezed him, her head shifting once more to snuggle to his side.

“Love you too, Xand,” she whispered, letting her own eyes drift shut as sleep called to them enticingly. 

Tomorrow was soon enough to be on their own. Tonight neither one felt the need to leave the comfort of their embrace.


	13. Chapters 45-47

Chapter Forty-Five:

 

His rather rickety old Citron made various strange, but not unusual noises as it chugged along down the empty streets of Sunnydale, the passenger in his car remaining completely silent as the streets of downtown turned into those of the suburbs and the surroundings changed from concrete to grass. Eyes staring blankly out the windshield, face expressionless, Buffy just sat, letting the rumbles of the car lull her into a numb state, slowly replacing the shock that had taken hold of her earlier that night. 

Glancing over his shoulder, Giles frowned, his expression troubled as he turned back to focus on the road ahead. She had been like that, silent and nearly catatonic, since he had spotted her walking along the sidewalk outside the high school, head bent and tears stifled but still flowing. 

After telling Xander and Willow that he would dutifully follow his Slayer and make sure she got home safely, he had climbed in his car hurriedly and rushed to meet up with her. Buffy was already nearly two blocks away by the time he reached her. Pulling up along side her, he slowed the car to a near halt and swung the passenger side door open. With a quiet entreaty of ‘Climb in’, she slipped inside and buckled her seatbelt. After that she seemingly collapsed into the position she currently remained in, shoulders hunched and eyes blank. 

He had never seen her look so defeated. 

Turning on to her street, he slowed the car until they reached her house. Parking his car along the sidewalk, he shut off the engine, his hand lingering on the keys in the ignition as he searched for something, anything, to say. Everything that he thought of, everything that came to mind seemed woefully inadequate as he looked at her face, the normal spark ever present now diminished.

“You have a right to be angry,” Giles murmured, leaning back in his seat and turning his head to focus on her better. Buffy still remained silent.

“I know…things are difficult right now,” he attempted elegance in his speech but just knew he must have sounded indelicate. “I know you are…upset about Angel,” he cringed at his own words. Upset didn’t even begin to describe how she felt and he knew it. 

“But you cannot forget–”

“My duties?” she finished for him, the lack of bitterness, of emotion in its entirety more stinging than any words she could have flung at him in anger. 

“There will be time for grief, but the situation is…dire. This…complication–”

“He isn’t a complication,” Buffy cut him off with a whisper. “Don’t. Don’t talk about him like that, like he’s a–a thing. He is…was…a person. He has feelings and thoughts and he loves–loved me. He isn’t a complication. He’s Angel.” 

“Buffy,” her Watcher stammered in apology, a little taken aback but more than understanding. “I didn’t mean…”

“I’m not just giving up on him, Giles,” she said vehemently and he was relieved to see some sort of feeling in her eyes once more as she turned to face him. “I’m not grieving, I can’t. If I do that means that I, that some part of me, is acknowledging that he is gone. That he is never coming back. And I can’t do that. Willow said there was a way to bring him back–”

“Willow said there *might* be a way to bring him back,” he reminded her gently. 

“There is a way…there has to be,” she whispered brokenly. His heart broke for her and Giles placed a comforting hand on her shoulder. 

“Buffy,” his voice rumbled in a low, consoling manner, “You know I want nothing more than for that to be true, but…”

“Are you saying I should just give up now?” she snapped angrily, eyes blazing, but glassy from unshed tears. “That I should just resign myself to Angel’s fate now and stop all this useless hoping? ‘Cause I can’t do that Giles, I can’t just give up on him. He deserves better.”

“That’s not what I am saying,” he stopped her sternly. “I know you can’t give up on Angel, I am not saying you should. But there is something you must realize. Under normal circumstances, you would have every right to grieve, to be angry, to do whatever is necessary to either bring Angel back or to stop him, but these are not normal circumstances. And you, Buffy, are not just anyone.

“You are the Slayer,” he said with compassion. “I know you children hate when I give this speech, but that does not make it any less true. You are not normal. You are more than normal, better than normal. You are the chosen one, and with that comes responsibility. And yes, it is hard, and it is unfair, but life has never been easy or fair. You are not allowed the luxury of grief. You must suppress it, fight it, and defeat the enemies before you. Don’t allow this to get the better of you, Buffy. Take your anger, your fear and sadness, and use it. Use it to fight the First…and Angelus, and then, when the battle is won; you can let yourself grieve as you rightfully should.” 

“I don’t know if I can,” she murmured heartbrokenly. “I don’t know if I can look him in the eye and not see Angel.”

“You’re not alone in this,” he assured her in a rough, gravely voice, pulling her into a tentative and slightly awkward one-armed hug. Buffy just sniffled and allowed herself to rest her head gratefully on his tweed covered shoulder. “You won’t face this, him, alone. I will be with you at every turn. And whether you want their help or not, I do believe you can count on Willow and Xander to remain stalwartly at your side. If there is a way to save Angel we will find it,” he declared resolutely.

“And if there’s not?” she asked with uncharacteristic weakness clouding her voice. 

“Then we will stand alongside you and see to it that Angel is…stopped.” Buffy fell mournfully silent again and Giles made no move to prod her inside her house, allowing her to simply gather herself for as long as it took before she eventually climbed out of the passenger seat, waving a halfhearted goodbye as she trudged up her driveway. 

Giles watched her walk away, a deep sense of worry settling in the pit of his stomach. If she fell apart, if she couldn’t face the reality that Angel was no longer the man she had known and loved, much more than her life or the lives of the people closest to her were at stake. The fate of the world depended on her ability to repress her pain and fight to the bitter end.

It was far too big a responsibility for just a teenage girl. 

 

~~~~~~~~

 

He had watched her with a hunter’s eye as she sat in the piece of junk her Watcher called a car, looking shaken and withdrawn. He wasn’t surprised; Willow would have gone running to Buffy the second she could to tell the Slayer about his reappearance, it was to be expected. In fact, he had been counting on it. 

There was only so much fun one could derive from torturing someone if they didn’t know who they were dealing with. Certainly it would have been delicious, seeing Buffy squirm as he twisted her mind under the loving guise of ‘Angel’. But while mind games were always fun, and he hadn’t ruled them out, he had been eager to witness the scene that was playing out before him.

Screams and begging were delightful, but nothing gave him more personal pleasure than seeing silent, stubborn tears coursing down a pretty girl’s face. Drowning in the immeasurable pain that swam in her eyes. There was nothing that gave him more of a rush, a high even, nothing more beautiful than the suffering of a woman. 

Eventually Buffy gathered her wits about her and Angel watched from his darkened perch in her tree as she stumbled carelessly up the porch steps and let herself inside with a quiet click of the door. He couldn’t resist a smug smirk when he heard the tell tale sound of the deadbolt sliding into place.

If she thought a flimsy bit of metal was going to keep him out, she had another thing coming. 

He observed as she met up with her mother in the kitchen, murmuring something indistinguishable at her mother’s concerned gaze, before retiring to her bedroom upstairs. He idly wondered if she had even bothered to warn her mother about the danger that was lurking that night, but he found himself doubtful. Joyce didn’t even know she was the Slayer and he didn’t picture Buffy just blurting out the existence of vampires, and more importantly that she was dating one. One who would like nothing more than to see her dead.

Angel shifted his position in order to get a better look. Buffy, ignorant of the piercing gaze following her every move, gathered a change of clothes and stepped into the bathroom before closing the door. 

When she returned to her bedroom she was dressed in a loose lavender tank top and polka dotted pajama pants. Angel couldn’t resist a chuckle. It seemed so amazing and at the same time absolutely absurd. This *child* was responsible for ‘world save-age’, as she so eloquently put it. He was deeply ashamed of his kind.

It was hours before she finally drifted off into a fitful sleep. Buffy had lay there, eyes staring unseeingly out of her second-story window as the night grew old, and Angel was almost sure at times that their eyes were meeting. But still she refused to stir, so he knew she had not noticed his presence.

Eventually her eyes had fallen shut and her breathing evened out until she could no longer fight it and she gave in to slumber’s tempting beckoning. He had given it another half hour before he dared to move, wanting to be sure she would not wake when he made his move.

Climbing expertly with unnatural grace, he moved silently from the tree branches to the sturdiness of her roof, allowing his palms to glide across the cool wood casing of her window before pressing his hand against the pane and pushing gently upwards. At first the window did not want to budge, but soon enough under his constant pressure it gave in and it opened up to him readily. 

Stepping inside, putting his right foot first as he slid into the darkened bedroom, he paused as he was halfway through, waiting to see if she stirred at all. When her breathing didn’t even hitch, he knew was undetected and he continued inside. 

He pondered her sleeping form for a second, allowing a small smile to cross his face when he noticed the stake and holy water sitting on her bedside table. Even handy little tools like those wouldn’t do her much good if she was asleep.

Tempted to abandon his original plan, he shook the thought off and moved away from Buffy, walking out into the hall and sauntering slowly toward the only other occupied bedroom in the Summers’ household. 

Two hours passed before he returned to Buffy’s bedroom. Her position had changed, once lying on her back; she now rested on her side, almost curled into a fetal position. Angel strode across the room, his footsteps unheard, as he reached the head of the bed.

Slightly rough fingers trailed across the blonde’s forehead, brushing hair absently away from her eyes, before moving down her cheek. The touch, once contemplative, became almost fond and Angel pulled his hand away as if burned. A disgruntled look crossing his face, he decided to get back to business.

Taking out a slip of thick paper, folded up teasingly, from an inner pocket of his duster, he left it tauntingly on her bedside table, having the audacity to place it under the stake Buffy had laid out for protection.

With a whisper of a kiss across her lips, Angel prowled toward the window once more and swiftly exited the house with his duster billowing dramatically in the breeze. 

His swift and undetectable escape was thwarted unexpectedly by, of all things, and older Englishman leaning against the trunk of the tree outside the Summers’ front yard. Arms crossed nonchalantly and a small smirk that spoke of pride and amusement on his weathered face, the tension in his body didn’t increase even a fraction at the sight of the master vampire, if anything he seemed pleased by his arrival.

“I was told I might be able to find you here,” the man declared in a conversational tone, pushing his body away from the tree with his shoulder and brushing off any traces of dirt and bark from his dress shirt.

“Really?” Angel said skeptically, eyeing the vaguely familiar man curiously. “And why would you want to do something like that?” he wondered with a hint of laughter. He was used to people running from him in terror, he certainly wasn’t accustomed to people wantonly seeking him out. It proved a welcome distraction.

“Me personally?” he returned with a highly amused snort. “I don’t want to be anywhere near your snarly self, mate. But I’m under orders, and well…my boss is scarier than you.” 

“And you are?” Angel asked dryly, his blank expression unchanged.

“You know, I’m hurt,” he groused, honestly a bit offended. “I know I haven’t been around much, but I really expected you to remember me. Come on now, Eyghon, Chaos…work with me, chap.”

“Ethan Rayne,” Angel remembered, a curious gleam entering his eye. 

“Well thank you,” Ethan snapped, openly annoyed. 

“Now, don’t be offended,” Angel smirked as the Englishman appeared disgruntled. “This is the hellmouth. Face it, after the Master, Spike, the First…Me, you’re just small potatoes.” 

“This is what I get for just following orders,” he grumbled, “bloody unappreciated, I am.” 

“And what were your orders?” Angel asked, his previously playful tone decidedly darker and more serious.

“My boss wishes an audience,” Ethan stated in the courtliest manner he could manage, which even he seemed to find amusing. 

“I don’t really play well with others,” Angel declared with a disdainful sneer. “Why don’t you tell your boss thanks, but no thanks.”

“Yeah, and I have a death wish,” he snorted. “I’ve got to say mate, you’ve got some brass ones, I’ll give you that. Not many people would have the balls and the backbone to deny the First Evil.” 

“Well, your boss isn’t exactly corporeal, so he can’t touch me,” Angel listed with a pleased smirk. “And if you’re the best he’s got, then he’s about to get his ghostly ass handed to him by the Slayer. Balls and backbone have nothing to do with it.”

Angel gave Ethan a dismissive glare and he continued on his way down the front lawn and toward the sidewalk. But he was brought up short by Ethan’s casually thrown out words.

“He just thought you might want to know how you lost that pesky soul of yours,” he shrugged with nonchalance. Angel turned slowly on his heel, studying the man with a keen eye. “No worries then mate. I’ll just tell him you aren’t interested.” Ethan half smiled and started down the driveway, hands resting casually in his pants pockets.

“That won’t be necessary,” Angel called out, causing Ethan to stop in his tracks as the vampire sauntered slowly toward him, the curiosity returning to his gaze. “I’ve…reconsidered,” he declared, with a tilt of his head.

At Ethan’s pleased grin, Angel felt his lips quirk up in amusement. “So…take me to your leader.”

 

Chapter Forty-Six:

 

“Well,” Angel drawled unimpressively, his lip curled up in disgust. “Isn’t this a homey little…cave.” Ethan didn’t bother to respond, but continued leading them through the darkened tunnels of the First’s hideout, though Angel needed little help navigating the pitch black corridors. “Nice digs.” 

“I’m glad you approve,” announced a sweet, lilting voice as the pair entered the main chamber. Bringers were encircled at the center of the room, the blinded men kneeling on the dusty ground, chanting softly, their voices filling the room with a pleasant hum.

Angel’s eyes searched the room for the owner of the familiar voice and couldn’t resist a smirk when he noticed the petite figure stepping out from the shadows. It was Buffy in every physical way. Long blonde hair brushed past her shoulders, eyes wide and alert, dressed sleekly in a black tank top and midnight blue leather pants. But in every other way it was obvious that this wasn’t the Slayer. The cocky smirk that graced her pretty face, the arrogant stance that Buffy herself rarely used unless facing off with an enemy, a devious glint in her bright eyes, still it was an impressive copy.

“And you must be the First,” he concluded dryly.

“Your abilities of deduction are astounding,” the First replied, earlier humor replaced with a bland, emotionless tone.

“Now, now,” he tsked, giving her an indulgent grin, “no need to get testy. You called, I came, can’t we play nice?”

“The great Angelus never plays nice,” she returned tonelessly. “Or have you gone soft in your old age?”

“You know, one insult I might let slide, since you’re the big evil in these parts and all, but two is pushing it,” he warned. “I’m here because your Nancy boy there,” his head jerking toward Ethan, “aroused my curiosity. But my patience is not infinite. Keep boring me and I walk, after I eat him first of course,” he grinned as Ethan’s face perceptibly whitened.

“You won’t do anything of the sort,” the First called his bluff with a confident sneer. 

“And why is that? ‘Cause the way I see it, I can do whatever I damn well please and your ghostly self can’t do a thing about it. Nasty bit of business, that whole non-corporeal thing,” he snapped.

“I might not be able to touch you,” she acknowledged, the smug expression never once leaving her face, “but they can,” she gestured to the still murmuring bringers. “They will do anything I command them, including impaling you on numerous pointy objects. So we will continue having a civil conversation and you will leave my associate alive and well.”

“Not even a nibble?” he taunted as Ethan began to grow more confident.

“Not yet,” the First allowed, ignoring Ethan’s incredulous glare, “he still has his uses.”

“I guess we should get down to business then,” Angel declared, clapping his hands together in mock anxiousness. “Puppet boy there said you know how my soul flew the coop.”

“Of course I know how,” she replied with a small chuckle. “I was the one who ripped it from your body.” Angel raised a mildly surprised brow, as if silently asking for an explanation, but she seemed little inclined to indulge him. “The details are unnecessary. My bringers have more than enough power between them to perform such a spell. The intricacies are pointless. But it was my conclusion that you were more useful to me without the burden of a soul, so I took it away.”

“How…anticlimactic,” he huffed. “Don’t get me wrong, I couldn’t be more grateful for the magical mumbo jumbo you pulled, really, I appreciate it. But I’m no one’s errand boy. I don’t work for people, they work for me. And I’m not about to become the lackey to a freaking ghost and its sightless sidekicks. I’m not right hand to the big evil, I *am* the big evil.” 

“So much arrogance for one so young,” the First sneered, Buffy’s face wrenched into a grimace. “Don’t misunderstand me Angelus; I said you were more useful to me without a soul. That doesn’t mean that I won’t hesitate to kill you if you fail to live up to my expectations. Or better yet, I can always resoul you. Maybe permanently this time,” she considered as Angel’s face became stony. “Imagine that, trapped inside Angel’s body for all eternity, never to see the light of day, to gain control. You would be a helpless prisoner inside your own body, Angelus. You will spend the rest of your life saving innocents, averting apocalypses, and loving the Slayer. Seems a fitting end, doesn’t it?” she mused with a fond grin.

Angel remained silent for a long while, but the barely caged rage that shone in his eyes told her more than any words could. He was furious, but he was wisely considering her words carefully. He had no doubt she could and would follow through with her threats. Death would almost be a welcome alternative to another eternity spent as Angel’s inner voice. She had him over a barrel and he knew it. He hated her for it.

Swallowing deeply, resignedly, Angel cleared his throat roughly. “Maybe we could work something out…”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

The morning sun rose and with it awoke Buffy Summers, reluctantly leaving the comfort of slumber when her bedside alarm flared to life, blasting ungodly loud music into her ear. Lying face down in her bed, she flung her arm out, her hand grasping about absently as she searched for the snooze button, pausing when her hand brushed an unfamiliar piece of paper. Bypassing the foreign object, she finally hit the button on her alarm and reveled in the silence for a moment before forcing herself up into a sitting position, her back resting against her wicker headboard. 

Her eyes flickered to her nightstand and her head cocked to the side curiously as she saw the folded piece of parchment paper resting there innocently. That hadn’t been there the night before, had it?

Reaching out, she grasped it and slowly unfolded it, her eyes widening in surprise and then unmitigated fear as she gazed upon a drawing of her sleeping mother’s face.

Tossing her covers off hastily, she jumped off the bed, flinging open her bedroom door and racing down the hall. Reaching her mother’s door, she didn’t bother knocking but instead threw it open in a panic. The sheets on her bed were rumpled but empty and there was no sign of her at all.

Fear seizing her, Buffy ran wildly down the stairs and anxiously into the kitchen.

Joyce Summers stared at her daughter with a distinct expression of concern and worry as she watched Buffy, who had just barreled into the kitchen; take deep breaths to calm herself, her hands clutching her pajamas nervously. Putting down her mug of coffee, Joyce’s brow furrowed and her mouth turned down into a frown.

“Buffy, are you okay?”

“I…uh,” she struggled for a coherent thought as she tried her best to calm her racing heart. “Nightmare,” she finished lamely.

Joyce’s face screwed up in comprehending concern and stepped around the counter to place a comforting hand on her daughter’s forehead, whisking away the stray locks of hair that had fallen onto her face. “Must have been pretty bad if it got you this worked up,” she murmured with a frown.

“I…I thought you were gone,” Buffy admitted, hating that her voice trembled slightly. 

“Oh sweetheart,” Joyce sighed sadly, pulling the petite blonde into her arms and mumbling words of consolation. Pressing a kiss to the top of her head, Joyce pulled away but still kept her in her embrace. “I’m right here. Don’t worry. I’m not going anywhere,” she assured her soothingly but it did little to placate Buffy’s fears. 

“Are you sure you’re feeling well?” her mother asked, placing a hand on her forehead to gauge her temperature. “Maybe you should stay home today. Do you think you might be coming down with something?”

“No, I…” Buffy denied, thinking back to the sketch now lying on her rumpled bedcovers, “I have to go in. I just had a bad night, that’s all. Nothing to worry about,” she smiled tightly, knowing that her mother wasn’t buying it, but was unwilling to press her any further. 

“Okay, if you insist,” Joyce agreed almost reluctantly after a moment. “You should run up and take a shower then. I really need to get the gallery soon, you don’t mind if I head out while you are upstairs?” she asked in concern.

“I’ll be fine,” Buffy smiled, a little more honestly this time. “It was just a bad dream.” 

“Alright,” Joyce finally grinned, kissing her daughter one last time on the forehead and stepping around her to grab her now cooling coffee. “You have a good day.”

“Of course,” Buffy nodded, turning her back on the kitchen and heading for the stairs. 

A good day was easy, a promise she was almost sure she could keep. After all, the monsters didn’t come out until night.

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Giles’ quiet morning came to an abrupt end when his Slayer bounded into the library of Sunnydale High with a murderous look in her eye and a voice pitched with fear. Her hands were clenched so tightly that the paper she held in one of them began to crumple from the force.

“Buffy, what–?” he fumbled for a proper response or greeting but needn’t as she cut him off before he could formulate a thought.

“He was in my house!” she nearly growled, the unspoken terror prominent in her wide eyes. 

“Who?” Giles replied dumbly, still feeling a bit lost as he removed his glasses and began polishing them in a nervous manner. 

“Angel,” she snapped, slamming the piece of drawing paper onto the center table, revealing Angel’s work to Giles’ shocked and surprised gaze. “He was in my house last night. He left this on my nightstand.” 

“Oh,” he murmured, at a loss for words as he picked up the discarded drawing and studied with an almost morbid fascination.

“That’s all you have to say? Oh?!” she responded incredulously. “He was in my mother’s room! What am I supposed to tell her? I have to tell her *something*. She looked at me like I was crazy this morning when I came downstairs after finding that picture. I thought she was dead!” 

“Buffy, you must calm down,” he hissed, eyes darting about to make sure no one had come in and overheard her ranting. 

“I have to do something,” she continued on, her gaze pleading and utterly heartbreaking as her earlier anger and fear seemed to finally settle, leaving her feeling drained and completely helpless. “I can’t just…he can’t…Angel can’t…” she nearly whispered, her breath coming in short gasps as her situation began to overcome her. “Angel,” was her final whimpered plea as her eyes filled with unshed tears and Giles gently led her to chair, fearing that she would fall to the ground without its assistance. 

“Shh,” he hushed her, lowering himself to his knees and wrapping her in an awkward one-armed embrace, allowing her head to rest against his shoulders as she fought to regain her composure, not caring about the questionable picture they presented to anyone who may happen to stumble through the library doors. 

It only took a matter of seconds for her cool and calm demeanor to finally resurface for the first time that day and Buffy sat up straight, and Giles in response leaned back and slowly stood, watching his Slayer carefully. Wiping away a stray tear that had escaped her eye, Buffy remained seated as she looked with blank determination off into the distance. 

“You are right,” Giles began softly, not discouraged when she failed to meet his eyes. “Your mother does need to be told something. But I don’t wish to frighten her more than is necessary.” Buffy nodded idly and a frown blossomed on his face as he silently wished he could say or do something to make this all go away. “We *will* find a way to fix this Buffy,” he said forcefully. 

Something akin to a wane smile tugged at her lips while her gaze remained unfocused and distant. “We always do.” 

“We will,” he repeated, placing a careful hand on her arm, finally garnering her attention, her eyes sharply fixed on his face now, reading his earnest expression and responding in kind. 

Amidst the pain, trust shone in her eyes, unrelenting and complete. “I know.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Xander was having a bad morning.

When he had woken, with a painful crick in his neck, on the couch of Willow’s living room an unpleasant feeling crept up on him when he noticed that the redhead was no longer resting with him. In fact after a thorough search of her house, he found that she wasn’t anywhere to be found. 

He wasn’t worried for her safety, at least not at the moment. But he had hoped to wake up and share one last reassuring moment with his best friend before swallowing the nervous lump in his throat and facing the day. But alas it was not to be.

They each had their missions that day, both equally important and potentially dangerous. And while her duties would take her to a far more dubious location than his, he still couldn’t hold down the wave of nervousness that swept through him as he headed toward his destination. 

Sunnydale High School was a place he had always feared. Whether it was because of exams he hadn’t studied for or pop quizzes that he undoubtedly bombed, or even a vampire raid and the opening of the hell mouth, it made little difference. 

As he ascended the steps outside the school, his eyes flitted about, eventually setting on frantic movements at the far end of the hall he entered. Seeing a familiar flash of blonde hair before the double doors of the library swung open, he couldn’t resist taking the automatic steps forward, pausing just outside the doors.

He couldn’t bring himself to actually go inside. Though he wanted to walk right in and see what was going on, what had happened that had caused such a violent reaction in Buffy, he resisted. He wouldn’t be welcome, by Slayer or Watcher alike. He would truly be the outsider he had always proclaimed to be. But he couldn’t simply turn his back on her, so he did the only thing he could think of.

Pushing open one of the doors ever so slightly, Xander leaned in close, listening as best he could to Buffy’s panicked tone and Giles’ confused replies. And that sinking feeling that had filled him that morning appeared justified. He remembered this, when Angel played stalker. It really wasn’t a time he wanted to repeat, but he was left with little choice. 

His reflections reminded him of his whole reason for even stepping into the hallowed halls of Sunnydale High that day. Shutting the door quietly and unobtrusively, he headed down the opposite hall, trying his best to ignore the sounds of Buffy breaking down that swam in his head.

Taking a deep breath, he found the door he was looking for and knocked softly, knowing that the classroom was empty since first period wasn’t going to start for another ten minutes. After a soft ‘come in’ was heard from inside, he turned the doorknob and poked his head inside.

“Hey,” he offered with an awkward tilt of his head. 

Jenny looked almost startled by his presence, which he could kind of understand considering how long it had been since they had spoken, and he had never before specifically sought her out.

He stepped inside and shut the door firmly behind him as she blinked at him in surprise. “Miss Calendar…we really need to talk.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

Willow had woken almost as soon as the sun had risen, a move that was somewhat uncharacteristic but not particularly noteworthy. Pulling herself out of Xander’s arms carefully, she felt too distracted to even bother trying to go back to sleep. Instead she decided to simply take a quick shower and nibble at a breakfast muffin before finally giving up and throwing it away in favor for some dry toast.

Trying her best to slip out the front door quietly, Willow found herself climbing in her parents’ station wagon that was sitting unused in the garage and driving around aimlessly for a short while. 

She knew what she had to do that day. As she and Xander had discussed the night before, they each had important things to do, all in the hopes of defeating the first, and at the moment saving Angel’s soul. She had debated silently whether or not to bite the bullet and follow through with her end of the plan then, or put it off and wait until nightfall. Undoubtedly Spike would probably be a little less cranky if she approached after dusk instead of waking him in the morning. Only a little less, though, considering it was Spike after all. 

But in the end she found herself unable to wait. She was particularly looking forward to this conversation considering how he had just left her alone with Angelus on the loose and the fact that what she was asking of him was huge, could even cost him his life let alone his position as Master in Sunnydale. 

Driving into the warehouse district of Sunnydale in the light of day was slightly surreal. It looked so unassuming, so common in the sun. But at night it became something else, something more. It was a place to be feared in the shadow of the night. But in the rays of the sun, it appeared almost…boring.

Parking her car a good distance from the factory, well away from the shadows that surrounded portions of the building and provided for possible habitation for hungry vampires, she walked with a small amount of trepidation toward the doorway that would, if she remembered correctly, lead to a set of stairs overlooking the main factory floor.

She didn’t bother knocking, figuring absently that a nest of vampires wouldn’t really give a damn whether she was polite or not, and instead pushed the door open, which open inwards, and stared warily into the forbidding darkness.

A low rumble of a growl sounded not too far from the open door and the shine of eyes appeared almost in front of her, but Willow stood tall and smartly remained out of arm’s reach. The unnamed vampire took a bold step forward and she was able to make out more of his features, tall, gaunt, dark hair, golden eyes. 

“Somebody order take out?” he smirked, lips curling up around pointed fangs. His amused and dangerous grin faded abruptly as a spare bit of bit, with a notably sharp, pointed end, lifted and hung threateningly in the air just to the side of the redhead at the door. 

“Move and I’ll dust you,” she warned him ominously. He remained silent and appeared almost indecisive but before Willow could continue with her demand to see his Master, the vampire of her thoughts appeared.

“Now, now pet, no need to go offing the help,” chided a soft, but still amused voice from the darkness. The stranger at the doorway faded back into the black and the familiar form replaced him, compact, strong, blonde and blue eyed. Spike. 

“Can’t say I was expecting you,” he admitted, staring at her curiously. “Especially at this bloody god forsaken time of day,” he snorted. 

“Sorry to wake you,” Willow offered with little feeling behind it. 

“Well I’d come outside so we could have a private chat,” Spike sighed with a lift of his brow, “but it’s still a bit too sunny for my taste. Come on in, love.” He stepped aside and she took a hesitant step forward, her eyes adjusting to the dark and realizing that the lower level was not nearly as pitch black as the stairs, illuminated by soft lamps and candles. A couple of minions lingered about, looking at her hungrily, but a warning growl from Spike caused them to slink into the shadows. 

“I’m surprised,” she admitted as she followed him downstairs. He turned slowly on his heel when they reached the floor, eyeing her contemplatively. 

“Why’s that?” he murmured, tilting his head to the side and crossing his arms over his chest.

“You…just inviting me inside your lair?” she grinned tightly. “I don’t know. I expected more of a fight from you.”

“You come here, in the middle of the bloody morning, threatening to stake my minions, obviously wanting something,” he shrugged nonchalantly. “What can I say, I’m curious.”

“Curiosity killed the cat,” she reminded him with a tense smile. 

“Yeah well, sod the cat,” Spike dismissed with a grunt before his face became deadly serious. “What’s this all about, Red?” 

Willow’s expression sobered up immediately and she matched his serious manner. “We need to talk…” 

 

Chapter Forty-Seven:

 

“What brings you here Xander?” Jenny asked curiously, darting a confused glance at the young man as she stood from her behind her desk, shuffling some papers awkwardly.

“This is kind of important,” he admitted, mouth down-turned and demeanor subdued. “Can we talk?”

“I have a class to prep for,” she hedged, glancing up at him from her stacks of homework she had yet to finish grading. “And first period is about to start,” she said with a pointed look at the clock. “Don’t you have a class of your own to be attending?” 

“Forget about class, this is serious,” he sidestepped her hesitant attempt to get rid of him. 

“How serious?” Jenny frowned, finally taking a moment to study him earnestly.

“Oh, you know,” he shrugged nonchalantly, “world’s ending, Angel’s psycho, and we’re all about to bite the big one.”

“So the usual,” she replied in bemusement, earning a short nod and a small smile from him. “Shouldn’t you be talking to Buffy about this, or Giles?”

“Buffy doesn’t want much to do with me or Will right now,” Xander revealed with a pained expression, looking away when a hint of worry and pity began to shine on her face. “Distance is sort of the theme of the day. Besides, this concerns you.”

“Have a seat,” she relented, returning to her chair and waving a hand toward one of the students’ desk in front of her own. Pausing only to lock the door behind him, which garnered a raised eyebrow in surprise from the computer teacher, he took a seat before her, his fingers tapping anxiously on its surface uncontrollably. 

“What is this all about Xander?” Jenny broke their tension filled silence as the bell rang for first period, frustration plain on her face. 

Xander let a small, ironic smirk cross his face as he looked her in the eye, taking her by surprise as he casually drawled “Been studying up on your Romany these days?” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You said we need to talk,” Spike purred, eyes steely as he dug a pack of cigarettes out of his duster pocket and lit one, taking a long drag as he studied her form, the anxiety she was feeling clear in her eyes even if her body posture seemed almost casual. “So talk.” 

It wasn’t a request.

“Has Angel made any appearances here yet?” Willow asked, ignoring his demand for the moment, her question of equal importance. 

“Shockingly enough, no,” he smirked, exhaling a cloud of smoke and raising a scarred brow. “So far I have been spared the theatrics that would inevitably accompany Angelus’ return to the evil set. Maybe there is a God after all…” he pondered with mocking amusement. 

“So you still have complete control over your minions?” she confirmed, feeling a tinge of relief at that.

“The boys listen to me, yeah,” he agreed, nodding slowly as he strolled over to the grandiose table in the center of the factory floor and slid up to sit on its surface. “And they always will. Not about to let Paingel stroll in here and take over,” he sneered. “Even if he finally grew a pair.” 

“Why do you think he hasn’t shown up here at all?” she pressed. “I mean, isn’t that the logical thing to do? Reintroduce his self to the demonic world, make his presence known? At least that is what he did before.”

“That is typical Angelus,” Spike agreed, “Ego maniac to the bloody end. But I’m not going to question my good luck. If the sod wants to stay gone, than all’s the better.” 

“You don’t think it is strange?” she finally asked the question that had been plaguing her. 

“I think the prat is as strange as it gets,” he grumbled, “but I doubt you came here to listen to me psychoanalyzing my grandsire…so why don’t we get to point, love? Some of us need our beauty sleep, eh?”

“You made me a promise,” Willow said, hating that her voice was shaking, that her nerves were getting the better of her. 

It wasn’t Spike himself that inspired such anxious feelings. She wasn’t particularly worried about her immediate safety. Spike wouldn’t kill her; at least she was willing to bet he wouldn’t, not after everything they had been through. And he wasn’t about to let any of his boys touch her. She was safe as houses, as he would say. Or as safe as one could be inside a vampire den.

Despite knowing all that fear and worry still flooded her. She wasn’t afraid of Spike. But she needed him, and that scared her beyond belief. 

“I came to see if you’re going to keep it,” her eyes focusing on his, studying the tense look on his pallid face. 

For a moment she wondered if he knew what she was talking about, the look of pure concentration and seriousness on his face one she wasn’t accustomed to, but when he spoke she had no doubt that he followed her thoughts exactly.

“I’m a man of my word,” Spike replied solemnly, taking one last drag off his cigarette before tossing it to the ground, watching the ashes smolder against the cold concrete floor.

“No you aren’t,” Willow countered, a tiny hint of a grin on her face. “You’re not a man at all.”

“Aren’t I?” he asked smoothly, raising a brazen eyebrow at her flutter of amusement.

“You’re a demon, Spike,” she replied dryly. “And you made a point of reminding me of that fact at numerous intervals.”

“True,” he conceded, cocking his head to the side and cracking a slow grin, which faded almost as quickly as it came. “Doesn’t make what I said any less true, though. Don’t break my promises,” he murmured, sliding off the table with ease, feet planting on the ground with a hushed thud.

“I…I can understand if you want to back out,” she said, giving him an easy out. For all that they were technically on opposite sides; he had become something of a confidant, a friend even as troubling as that thought was. She didn’t want to see anything horrible happen to him. “You’re risking a lot here–”

“No more than you,” he interrupted softly, taking slow steps in her direction, icy blue eyes never leaving her face. Green met blue and her mouth closed in a tight line as he licked his dry, nicotine laced lips. “Besides,” he offered her a crooked grin as he reached up and brushed away a few stray strands from her face, “I like this town. Nice weather, perfectly oblivious population, not about to give that up to some ghost.”

“Good to know where your priorities lie,” Willow smiled weakly as she took a tiny step back, his hand falling back to his side carelessly. 

“While this little chat has been…interesting,” Spike said after a beat, acknowledging the imposed distance and showing no emotion either way, just merely slipping his hands into his duster pockets and eyeing the darkness that surrounded them. “This isn’t really the best place to discuss our little coup.”

“Right,” she nodded fervently. “Um…”

“I’ll stop by tonight,” he offered as a compromise and Willow agreed silently, subdued. 

Taking a bold step forward, a concerned expression on her face and her mouth down-turned in a slight grimace, “Uh, it is just that–we won’t–I mean, Xander will be there, probably. Most likely…okay very likely. In fact there’s not a chance in hell he’ll stay away knowing you’re there.”

“I’ll play nice,” he conceded, face screwed up in a mask of distaste. “So…you two pals again?” he asked in a tone that hid all emotion. “You and the boy wonder kiss and make up?”

“Something like that,” she agreed with an uncomfortable smile. “Only, you know, without the whole kissing part.”

“Good to know,” he grimaced. “So that’s it? All’s forgiven?”

“There’s an apocalypse coming,” Willow reminded him pointedly, lips pressed into a hard line and her tone defensive. “Now didn’t seem like the time to be petty. Besides…we’ve been through a lot together.”

“Please, stop. I’m about to heave,” he groaned, putting a stop to her heartfelt utterances. 

Opening her mouth in indignation and annoyance, she eventually snapped it shut, considering her words carefully. “Just–behave,” she demanded, straightening her back and tugging at the hem of her shirt unconsciously. “I’ll see you tonight.” 

“I can hardly wait,” he muttered as she turned her back on him and started up the stairs toward the exit. He knew she was mindful of the rest of his kind, her eyes darting back and forth as she strode as confidently as she could manage to the door. Only when the heavy metal door opened and sunlight streamed into the darkened factory did her shoulders slump in complete relief and her steps become lighter.

Though she appeared all at ease as she stepped into the light, he was left feeling dissatisfied. 

There had been a moment, when he had initially heard the commotion she created when she stepped into his lair and the reaction of his boys, when he stepped into her sight and sent all others scattering off into the dark, when it had just been the two of them, that he had felt almost content.

For so long he and Drusilla only had each other to depend on. It didn’t bother him so much. Company was overrated. But ever since coming to this one horse town and having his life turned upside down, he had come to rely on the unlikely companionship of this waif of a witch. He spent most of his time completely infuriated with her, but there were moments he could glimpse some of himself in her, her desperate need to please, her determination to the point of headstrong stubbornness, her pain and heartache, and undoubtedly the darkness that tainted her but she had managed to not allow consume her. 

That was where they differed greatly. When his fork in the road had appeared, he walked into the path of darkness, albeit blindly, and embraced it wholly. But when she was forced to make the same choice she fought her way back to the light. There were times when he reveled in the darkness. Times when he hated her for doing what he failed to do. Times when he pitied her for being burdened with a conscience that he had the fortune to abandon centuries ago. Times when he was reminded that his conscience wasn’t completely lost.

Their partnership was uneasy and complicated. Based on her feelings of abandonment and his desire to know everything she had changed, and yes, even punish her for it. That was how it began at least. From there it had warped into a strange mixture of trust and mutual necessity. 

And yes, the demonic part of him, the part that was obsessive and possessive loved the fact that she turned away from her friends and turned to him to confide in. As much as he couldn’t believe she trusted him, could be that naïve, he reveled in it. Loved that she trusted him above all others, especially her friends.

He supposed that was the reason for his rush of irritation when she mentioned that she and the boy had made up. 

It certainly wasn’t jealousy.

“Bloody hell,” Spike grumbled, running a hand through his blonde hair and then over his face as his gaze finally left the door and turned to the fathomless darkness that shadowed the corners of the vast factory floor. He would occasionally spy another pair of eyes watching him curiously and was reminded of why he needed to step carefully around her. Prying eyes were everywhere and he wasn’t about to look confused or weak because of some human. 

His hair began to curl lightly around his face, making him look young, but the weight on his shoulders made him feel his age. Tonight would be the beginning of the end, and he knew it.

Despite what he told her, the confidence he displayed, he knew the chances of getting his minions to fight with them against the First Evil were slim to none. It would just be the two of them and the remnants of her beloved Scooby gang in the end, he was sure of it. He would turn traitor, help the white hats, and if they managed to survive, then what? 

He would be a pariah among his kind. 

But if he were honest with himself, chances were he wasn’t going to survive the battle. He would be sacrificing himself to save mankind. That thought left a taste of bile in his mouth, his demon appalled by the thought.

Still, there was a small part of him, a remnant of the man in him that he fought to deny but was unable to, that felt almost…proud.

That sick feeling filled him again and he shook his head in disgust. This is what he got when he attempted deep thought in the morning. He turned on his heel and stomped off, falling into bed with a grunt, waiting for night to come. 

All the while ignoring the eyes that followed his every move. 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“So let me get this straight,” Jenny drawled slowly as she eyed Xander incredulously, “You’re telling me Angel lost his soul, you don’t know how, and you want me to just…miraculously find his curse, the one that was used once in centuries, translate it, and curse him again.”

“Yeah,” he nodded. “And it might not even work. Willow says until we know how he lost his soul we can’t be sure cursing him again will do anything. Other than make him angry,” he shrugged nonchalantly.

“And how does this sound like a good idea?” she shook her head and stared at him like he had grown a third eye.

“It’s not,” Xander admitted, the tapping of his fingers growing more rapid on the surface of the desk, “but it’s all we’ve got. Plus, who knows? It might actually work.”

“I’m not even sure if I can find the text,” she hedged, leaning back awkwardly in her chair.

“Yes you can,” he said without hesitation. “And you can translate it on that nifty software you’ve been working on.”

“How…did you know that?” she asked warily.

“Lucky guess,” he smiled wryly. 

“I really should talk to Mr. Giles about this–” Jenny stumbled on her words as Xander shook his head fiercely. 

“No, you really shouldn’t,” he denied with a frankness that took her by surprise. “Look,” he leaned in a little closer, his expression shuttered but his eyes completely serious, “the less people who know about this the better. Giles and Buffy have enough to worry about without wondering whether you might be able to get her fangy boyfriend back. She doesn’t need to get her hopes up. And we don’t need Angel getting wind of this either. We’re in enough danger already.”

“But–” she objected, only to be cut off again.

“You know you died in our reality, right?” Xander reminded her urgently. “Angelus killed you, when he found out you figured out how to curse him again. Trust me; if you enjoy breathing it would be in your best interest to be discrete.” 

“He killed me,” Jenny repeated numbly. “And knowing that, you’re asking me to do it all over again?”

“Things are different,” he offered, knowing it was little consolation. “The curse wasn’t why he lost his soul, so he may not think he can be recursed, I don’t know. Plus there is a good chance, if we keep it quiet, like silent as the grave, he might not find out about it until it is too late.

“I know it’s not much, but Willow and I would do our best to make sure you’re safe. I know she may not look like much, but Deadboy’s got a force to reckon with in Will. And we would be the only ones to know about the curse. No Buffy, no Giles, for their own safety as much as yours,” he said, letting out a deep sigh. 

“You could look at it this way,” Xander shrugged, offering a smile that paled in comparison to the real thing, “between the First and Angelus, we’re as good as dead. This might be our only shot.”

“So I get to choose between definitely dead or possibly dead,” she grimaced, her head coming to rest in her hands.

“More like definitely dead and probably dead,” he amended unhelpfully, “but that’s life on the hellmouth.” 

“I…need to think about this,” Jenny mumbled, licking her lips nervously and looking at him with a plaintive gaze.

“That’s fine,” he assured her as he slid out of his seat and ambled slowly toward the closed door. “But don’t take too long.”

Smiling crookedly, he opened her classroom door and checked his watch with a muffled groan. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I’m off to first period English, where I must pay penance to Mrs. Hart for my tardiness. She better not give me detention. I can’t be late meeting Willow tonight. The fate of the world might depend on it,” he smiled ironically, stepping out into the hall and shutting the door behind him with a gentle click.

A tight, tense smile crossed Jenny’s lips at his last words.

The fate of the world, indeed.


	14. Chapters 48-49

Chapter Forty-Eight:

 

Jenny remained at her desk, as still as a statue and a blank stare, well into the night.

Students were long gone, even Giles was no where to be found, she had heard his telltale footsteps nearly an hour before as he trudged to the school’s parking lot. The hallways of Sunnydale High were darkened, with only the security lights that surrounded the entire building in an eerie glow. She hadn’t even bothered to turn on the lights in her classroom, despite the loss of the sunlight that had provided earlier illumination. It was too much effort, the weight on her mind so oppressive that she couldn’t manage the smallest of tasks. 

Xander’s plea for help that morning left a bitter taste in her mouth, her stomach churning tumultuously as she thought over what he had asked of her.

Jenny Calendar wasn’t a noble person. She never claimed to be.

She had come to Sunnydale because she was ordered to; she befriended these people not because she naturally gravitated to them, but because it was her job. That didn’t mean she hadn’t learn to care for them, even love some of them, but it certainly didn’t make her actions more palatable. 

She had sinned. She was a liar. It would be only natural to desire penance, and desire it she did. They may not know the truth, but she did and it was a heavy burden to bear. Just looking into Rupert’s eyes was painful. How disappointed he would be if he found out. Yes, she wanted nothing more than to make things right.

But was she willing to die for it?

That was the real question. Was she prepared to sacrifice her life as penance for her sins? 

It was a moot point really. There was an apocalypse coming any day now, death was looming over all their heads. Being a coward now wouldn’t change anything. No one could run away from destiny, Jenny knew that well. She had tried to escape her past, forget the fact that everyday she looked into the faces of people she cared for and lied. Still, the fact haunted her constantly.

Angelus’ wrath was something she would just have to risk. The other her, the Jenny from before who had died at the hands of that monster must have known the risks as well. Yet she still did her duty, what was needed of her. If she could face down death once before, she could do it again. 

She had to.

Her shoulders slumped, as if the imaginary weight of her decision landed squarely on her, and she let out a soft, slow breath of resignation.

It was the sound of a soft, muted whisper of cloth outside her classroom that caught her attention, waking her from her silent revelry. 

She barely heard it, but instinct and her years spent in the tutelage of her family made her duck under the cover of her desk, hiding in the darkened crevasse. Slowing her breathing to the point of almost inaudible, she fought to see what might be wandering about the halls, hidden by the cover of darkness.

It was ridiculous to think Angelus was out there, looking for her. No one knew she had a connection to the Romany except for Xander and Willow and they weren’t about to let him know about it. Besides, Xander had just come to her this morning with his plan. She had barely started on the endless research it would take to find a spell to restore his soul. Still, for a moment she was filled with dread as she looked out the bit of window on the door she could see, expecting to see his tall imposing figure lurking just outside.

There were no vampires to be seen, but her frantic heartbeat refused to slow as she caught a glimpse of black robed figures rushing past her door, their movements nearly silent. If it wasn’t for the barest whisper of the course fabric of their robes brushing the metal of the students’ lockers, she may have never known they were there. 

Until it was too late, at least.

They disappeared from sight swiftly, but her body refused to move. Adrenaline pumped through her, urging her to move, her muscles protesting her unnatural stillness. Yet she was too terrified to do anything more than to sit, stare and hide.

No more noise could be heard. She peeked up from her desk reluctantly, only to find no one staring back at her. If it weren’t for the fleeting glimpse she caught of them she would have thought the school was just as empty as it had been only moments before. But she knew better. 

Fingers shaking, she pushed her wheeled, wooden chair away from the desk with careful effort to make sure it made no sound. Slowly she climbed out from her hiding place, remaining in a crouch for a second, waiting.

When no sound came and no one burst through the door to capture her, she gently attempted to stand. Jenny couldn’t bring herself to go to the door and look in the hall. It would be reckless and foolish and she was none of those things. She was cautious, calculating. Recklessness got people killed. 

Licking her dry lips, she looked around the classroom, eyes finally settling on the large windows that lead to a set of bushes and the small patch of lawn just before the cemented faculty lot. 

Navigating the room carefully, she flinched as she turned the lock on the window and pushed it open, cringing at the slight squeak it made. Still no one came to investigate. She gently lifted herself through the wide hole and slid awkwardly onto the grass, pausing there before glancing around the shrubbery and seeing the coast was clear, sprinting to her parked car feet away.

By the time her car door was shut and her engine revving, Jenny’s heart pounded at an almost unnatural speed, driving out of the lot so fast she was pretty sure there would be skid marks left on the ground.

She wanted nothing more than to go home, to curl up into a ball and pretend that she was safe. That nothing bad could happen to her, but it would be a lie. She was sick to death of lies. It was time to tell the truth, to come clean no matter the hefty price.

As the distance between herself and the school grew, her breathing began to slow, her pulse no longer throbbing. But the churning dread in her stomach refused to abate. That had little to do with the shadowy figures in the hall and more to do with the man she was about to see. This couldn’t wait any longer. She had to find Rupert, to tell him…anything, everything.

But most importantly, she had to tell him that there were bringers at Sunnydale High.

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“How did she take it?” Willow wondered, glancing up at Xander in between bites of cereal. Lucky Charms wasn’t the healthiest of dinners but considering Xander couldn’t cook and the only thing she could make were cookies; that was the best they could manage. Besides, money was growing tighter and trips to the grocery store were less frequent. 

“Pretty well considering I basically told her she’ll probably die,” Xander admitted with a shrug. “Is it sad that people in this town don’t freak out when they find out there’s a good chance they’ll bite the big one?”

“This is the hellmouth,” she reminded him, “death doesn’t exactly take a holiday around here.” There was a long pause, filled only with the sound of Xander’s rather loud crunching of his food. “Do you think she’ll do it?” she asked softly.

“Yeah,” he murmured, looking down at the kitchen table. “It’s her duty. She’ll do it. I don’t think she really has much of a choice. It’s Jenny’s job to keep Angel on a leash…she’ll come through for us.” 

“Good,” she nodded, exhaling sharply and pushing her bowl away from her suddenly, her appetite completely gone. Xander still chewed away. 

A pounding on the front door startled them both and Xander jumped up, knocking over his already unsteady chair. Willow’s reaction was far less dramatic as she stood slowly, silently signaling him to relax, although the anxiety in her eyes still worried him.

“Um, just…stay calm, okay?” she begged, bringing a look of confusion to his face.

“You expecting company?” he drawled slowly, brow furrowed.

“Well…” she mumbled, managing to look guilty and concerned at the same time. It took him a minute, one in which there was another loud rap at the door, but he finally connected the dots.

“Oh no,” he shook his head fervently, taking a step toward her. “No, Junior is not coming in this house. No.”

“Xander–” she sighed, bringing a tired hand to rub at her now pained temples. 

“I don’t want a vampire–Spike–in my house!” he barked, looking incredulous as she merely observed him tiredly. 

“We need his help,” she reminded him sharply. “You know this. And not to get technical here bud, but this is my house. If I say he can come in, then he comes in.”

“Well then open the bloody door already!” came a muffled but obviously annoyed shout from the porch. Resisting a roll of her eyes at both of their childish behavior, Willow started for the front door, muttering a pleading “Behave,” to Xander before flipping the latch and opening the door. 

“About time,” Spike muttered, foot tapping impatiently as he glared at Xander hovering in the background. Willow opened the door wider and he gave her a disgruntled stare.

“Oh, sorry,” she flushed, “Come in,” she mumbled, stepping aside as Spike brushed past her, closing the front door quietly after him. “Xan, why don’t you go watch TV?” she offered helpfully as Spike stood uncomfortably in the middle of her living room, observing everything with a calculating stare. 

“I’m fine here,” he declared with a tight smile, eyeing Spike warily as he flopped unceremoniously onto the couch. “I see you even think about taking a nibble, I’ll stake you,” he warned the blonde bluntly, expression hard.

Spike just scoffed. “Like I’d touch you with a sodding ten foot pole, git,” he snorted, looking to Willow incredulously.

“Hey!” Xander barked in a mixture of embarrassment and indignation, “I’ll have you know I’m a tasty morsel!” 

“Okay, that’s it,” Willow announced with a roll of her eyes, “You,” she ordered, pointing authoritatively toward Xander, “upstairs.” He didn’t look pleased, but after a moment’s hesitation he did as she said, watching Spike the whole time he climbed the stairs.

“You, stop smirking,” she demanded, turning her attention to a greatly amused Spike, who didn’t look the least bit contrite at her reprimand. He just raised his hands in deference and stepped further inside the living room, purposefully taking Xander’s seat on the couch and throwing his feet up on the coffee table. 

“Make yourself comfortable,” she muttered with a roll of her eyes before joining him on the couch, placing distance between them and garnering a raised brow from the vampire. “So…has Angel made any appearances yet?”

“No,” he replied shortly, his earlier amusement vanishing at the mention of his grandsire. “There have been rumblings, just rumors about the great Angelus, but he’s keeping a low profile. I don’t like it.”

“Me either,” she commiserated with a sigh. “This isn’t like him. In the old days he would have announced his comeback with a big ol’ bloodbath and replaced you as Master in a heartbeat.”

“Hey!” Spike growled, “I’m not so easy to replace, thank you very much. That bastard’s got another thing coming to him if he thinks I’ll just hand it over.”

“But he’s not even attempting to take over,” Willow shook her head in confusion. 

“I know,” he muttered, reluctantly agreeing. “He’s bloody well up to something, and I’m going to damn well find out what it is.”

“Good,” she nodded faintly, eyes distant. “You said your minions were still loyal?”

“Yeah, they’ll do as I say,” he acknowledged, a hint of wariness in his voice. “But what kind of fight are we talking about, pet? You keep mentioning a sodding war, but what kind of battle are we walking into?”

“I don’t know,” she frowned, sinking farther into the couch, paying no attention as he scooted just the barest inch closer. “All I know right now is that the First has the bringers and Ethan, of course. Bringers can fight, hard. But it didn’t use them in battle last time. I–I suppose anything is up for grabs.

“Last time it used these…ubervamps. Turok-Hans,” she remembered, eyes glazed and mouth set in a grim line.

“Bloody hell,” he groaned, closing his eyes tightly and grimacing. “I thought those things were supposed to be myth. They’re like the bleeding boogeyman to vampires. All instinct, no finesse.”

“They’re real,” Willow murmured, glancing at Spike’s drawn face from the corner of her eye. “But things are different this time. So different. I mean really, what are the chances the first could resurrect them again?” she scoffed with a nervous, shaky laugh.

Spike gave a half smile, looking just as anxious as she, “Right.”

 

~~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Now this is what I’m talking about,” Angelus grinned as he stepped into the bowels of Sunnydale High, smirking at the sight before him. 

Bringers, numbers of them, were gathered in a circle chanting, settled in the dust of what was essentially a dirt floor. In the middle of the circle sat a young man, no more than twenty, disheveled and obviously terrified. Shaking uncontrollably, his clothing torn and tattered, his eyes flew about the room, searching for any sign of help. 

At the sight of Angel in the midst of all the robed, disfigured men, his gaze beckoned to him for aid. The vampire only laughed at the display and continued on.

“You beckoned,” he smirked as he spotted Ethan standing off to the side, doing his best to separate himself from the ritual taking place, his eyes never straying to the panicking boy in the middle. 

“Your presence was requested,” Ethan drawled, meeting the vampire’s eyes momentarily before focusing on some dark corner of the basement. 

“Gotta say, I like the new digs,” Angel grinned. “A change of scenery is always nice. Besides, the cave was getting a little cramped, no?” 

“I’m glad you approve,” the First murmured, stepping into view in the familiar guise of the Slayer. 

“You called, I came,” he acknowledged with increasing impatience, his smile growing thin. “What do you want?”

“I thought you might want to bear witness,” Buffy smirked as she ambled toward the gathering as the sound of the bringers united chanting increased in volume. “You’ll be in for a treat.” 

“Not to knock it, but this isn’t my first human sacrifice,” he grinned darkly, following her easy steps, looking dark and deadly cloaked in black and draped in shadows.

Buffy raised a hand, silencing him as her attention remained rapt on the scene below and Angelus unconsciously stepped beside her, eyes glued to the deathly frightened boy. A small smile blossomed on her face as one of the bringers stepped forward, wickedly sharp dagger in one hand as he approached the quaking man. His pleading noises made through the gag in his mouth were ignored as his hair was taken in a harsh grip; his head pulled back roughly, neck exposed.

Knowing what was coming, Ethan turned away from the sight completely, discretely covering his ears to mute the sounds of struggle and suffering. He was no saint, but even he had his limits. He had requested not to be present this night. The First took great pleasure in denying him.

Swift movement preceded the sound of miserable gurgling and the two spectators found themselves unable to look away from the sight. Blood flowed onto the ground beneath as the bringer released his death grip on the boy, letting his limp body drop unceremoniously. 

Two others moved quickly to drag the body away as a great rumbling began. Angelus took powerful steps forward, looking over the heads of the gathered men to see what was happening. The First followed at a more leisurely pace, a pleased smile on her face. 

“Well, well, it’s…a satanic manhole cover,” he snorted with a raised brow, glancing over his shoulder. 

“The seal of Danthalzar,” she declared with a droll roll of her eyes. “And if you knew what lies beyond it, you would not mock and make stupid jokes. You would kneel before it.”

“And what exactly is it hiding down there?” he wondered, decidedly under-whelmed.

Buffy was in no hurry to answer, merely gracing him with a devious grin and signaling with a bob of her head to the bringers behind him that were now dispersing.

A fierce growl erupted from Angelus as arms came around him, three bringers fighting to restrain his arms, a swift, hard kick to the back of his knee forcing him unwilling to kneel before the First.

“I told you Angelus,” she said, voice delightfully pleasant as she waved them away and they dragged the still struggling body of Angelus toward the newly uncovered seal. “I have use for you. Just…not in the way you thought.” 

Still on his knees, he was forced to lean forward, his upper body hovering over the seal. His black silk shirt was ripped open with little care and he snapped violently, fangs at the fore, but was unable to do more than struggle as he was held down.

“I’m so tired of vampires these days,” she sneered, sidling toward him and crouching down to face him. “They’re so independent; always want to be in control. They think above their station, don’t understand the hierarchy. You aren’t the big bad here, Angelus. You’re a pawn. It’s a shame really. You have such potential, but you…your kind, don’t seem to understand that you’re not the top of the food chain. But relax,” she murmured with a sweet smile, enjoying his furious growls. “I’m not going to kill you.”

His struggles intensified and he appeared rabid as a dagger drew deeply across his exposed chest, his blood dripping onto the seal in a steady flow.

“I told you, I wanted you to bear witness,” she declared, voice harder, losing its melodic quality as she stepped back, the bringers dragging his now tired form away from the seal and dumping him on the ground with a thud as the ground began to shake and the seal, once dormant, began to move, to open before their very eyes. 

“It’s time you see what a real vampire is like.” 

 

Chapter Forty-Nine:

 

Having discarded his traditional button-up shirt and tie and opting for a more casual wool sweater, Giles puttered quietly around his modest kitchen. The teapot, sitting under flame, began to whistle and he turned off the burner on his stove and carefully poured the now steaming hot water into a Kiss the Librarian mug that Buffy had given him the year before as a gag gift, plopping a tea bag in unceremoniously and letting it steep. 

There was a knock on his door, firm but not loud, and he glanced up from his counter in surprise. He navigated the twists and turns of his living room, all the while a curious, puzzled expression on his face. No one should be paying him a visit, at least not at this hour. 

Peering through the peephole, he pulled back slightly, taking a moment to smooth down his slightly rumpled sweater and running a hand through his hair before opening the door widely, a pleasant, welcoming smile on his face. A smile that died the instant he caught sight of his visitor’s pallid face.

“Jenny,” he murmured in concern, stepping aside and waving her inside. He had long since lost the habit of extending a verbal invitation, especially in the dark of night. 

“I–I hope I’m not interrupting,” she stammered, hands shaky as she wandered into his living room, gaze flitting about anxiously. 

“Of course not,” he admonished gently, guiding her slowly with a hand on the small of her back to his couch and sitting her down. “Are you all right?”

“I–” she began, her expression troubled as she tried to think of what to say to him, how to explain everything and all that she had seen that night. She wished she knew how to explain everything to him. To explain how she had lied to them all for months, that she cared for him, maybe even loved him, to tell him about Xander and the curse and the bringers. But the words wouldn’t come and she found herself stumbling clumsily over them.

If only it were simple, but the truth was never simple. There was always a price to pay for complete and total honesty.

No Buffy, no Giles, for their own safety as much as yours. 

Xander’s ominous warning came back to her with startling force. As Giles sat there, staring at her in concern, she felt like a fool. He trusted her implicitly and she wanted, desired to earn what he gave to her so freely. But something was stopping her.

Fear, complete and utter terror. 

She could be noble and say it was only because she would be placing his life in danger if she revealed all her secrets. She could swear that it was all for his own good. And that was partly true. But she was also afraid of what he would think of her, that he would hate her, and that was almost as overwhelming as the other. 

Either way she would lose him. At the hands of Angelus or because of her lies, either way he would be gone, out of her life. 

Jenny was a woman who prided herself on fulfilling her duties, living up to others’ expectations of her, but she had moments like these, loathsome as they were, when she was undeniably selfish. Moments where, when she looked back on them, she would realize she was undeserving of the trust and love given so freely. But even knowing that she couldn’t bring herself to utter those damning words.

Losing Giles, his life or his love, was unacceptable. 

She would keep her secret, not out of loyalty to her clan, not for Xander, but because in the end she loved him, and that deep love inspired the most selfish of actions. And as Xander said, it was for his own safety. And hers. 

“Jenny?” His voice was like a splash of cold water and she jumped, her eyes closing tightly in remorse as his arm slid gently around her shoulders and he pulled her into a comforting embrace. 

“I, uh,” she sniffed, discretely wiping away a guilty tear as she slowly pulled away to look him in the eye. “I was staying late at the school…g-grading papers,” she admitted, a hitch in her voice as more lies left her lips, “and there was this noise. I barely heard it. But I hid and when I took a look into the halls to see what might be there–bringers.”

A sharp inhalation was Giles’ only response and she rushed on.

“There were bringers. I-I don’t know how many. I didn’t want to do anything that might get their attention. I waited until they were gone and t-then I snuck out through a window. I knew I had to tell you,” her hurried ramble slowed until it dropped off completely and she was left feeling surprisingly empty. 

Hands clenched into fists, Giles stared blankly at the floor before standing abruptly, Jenny’s gaze following him the whole time. He ran an unsteady hand through his hair and fingered his glasses nervously for a moment before seemingly collecting himself and rushing to the phone.

“Who are you calling?” she wondered numbly. His reply was terse. 

“Buffy.” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~

 

“Mom?” Buffy’s voice rang out as she unlocked the front of door of her house and ambled inside, glancing around for any sight of her mother. 

There was no reply as she wandered into the kitchen, dropping her backpack on the counter with a thud, her eyes drawn to the lone paper stuck on the refrigerator door. Snagging the post-it she smiled, a bit relieved when she realized it was just a note from her mother saying she was working late and wouldn’t be back until the morning. Thank god for pretentious artists and their elaborate gallery openings. She found small comfort in knowing her mother wasn’t home. At least tonight she wouldn’t have to worry about her falling prey to Angel while they slept.

Having returned from her first patrol of the night Buffy grabbed a glass from the cabinet, filling it with tap water and taking a long swallow. She was already exhausted, mostly due to her Angel-induced insomnia, and she had no desire to patrol for another two hours. But she had promised Giles and no one could do a guilt trip better than Giles, not even her mother. 

Slinging her backpack over her shoulder once more, she took the stairs two at a time, heading for her room. She needed to fill up on supplies before she headed back out.

Her room was pitch black as she pushed open the door, only moonlight streaming through her window. She dropped her bag on the floor and turned toward her closet where her weapons trunk was hidden when she noticed the curtains fluttering, a soft breeze from outside making them dance. Her heart beat so fast she was sure her next door neighbor could hear it.

She didn’t leave that window open.

Spinning around, automatically in a defensive posture and her trusty stake whipped out from her back pocket Buffy prepared herself for a fight. One that never came.

Her eyes were beginning to adjust to the lack of light and she noticed a figure, bent over and silent as the grave, in the corner of her room by the vanity. It cast no reflection in the mirror and she had no doubt who it was, after all there was only one vampire was an open invitation to her house.

Angelus. 

But Angelus wouldn’t be sitting calmly and quietly in her room. He’d be taunting her, terrorizing her, trying to kill her. The vampire, hunched over and far too compliant, was not the Angelus she had grown used to. It almost reminded her of–

“Angel?” 

The pained hope in her voice was immediately snuffed out by the sound of a furious growl. Her grip tightened on her stake as she carefully reached for the lamp at her bedside and flicking it on, tense and taut. 

The first thing she noticed was the blood. Dried, almost caked on, it covered his hands and as he leaned back slightly, dark eyes glaring menacingly at her, she could see it was all over his chest and thighs as well. His shirt, once impeccable silk, was torn and bloody.

“G-Give me a reason not to stake you here and now,” she demanded, trying her best to sound threatening despite the conflicting emotions churning inside her. He was obviously hurt badly and she wanted nothing more than to run to him, to clean him and comfort him and assure them both that he was okay. But he wasn’t her Angel anymore. 

Her attempt to appear cool and in control was met with strained laughter, mocking and loathsome. Buffy grimaced. Obviously he didn’t buy it.

“Would you believe I come in peace?” Angel smirked as he tried to sit up straighter, fighting down the growl that instinctively welled up in him at the movement.

“Not really,” she countered dryly, stake still poised firmly to strike. She couldn’t quell her worry and concern and she wavered, catching herself before she took a step forward. His eyes narrowed but he said nothing in response. “Who did this to you?” 

Her voice was filled with compassion and Angel sneered at the sound of it. 

“The First,” he replied, managing to completely take her by surprise with his frankness.

“You’ve been working with the First,” Buffy murmured, a mixture of anger and sadness in her tone. He could practically see her disappointment and found a little solace in that. 

“Yeah well, I’m a winning team kind of a guy,” he grinned as she glared at him balefully. “And sorry Buff, but you and your sidekicks aren’t it.” 

“Then why are you here?” she asked bluntly. “And make it quick, you’re staining my carpet.”

“I may be a winning team kind of a guy, but I do have certain standards,” he grimaced as he stood, smirking tiredly as her muscles tensed, almost shaking from the exertion. “And I draw the line at blood sacrifices to awaken some demonic pothole. Normally I wouldn’t mind it, I mean, what’s a little blood sacrifice between friends? But not when I’m the damn sacrifice.”

“Demonic…pothole?” Buffy repeated in confusion. At least now the whole covered in blood thing made sense. Sort of. 

“The Seal of Danthalzar,” he rolled his eyes. “And that’s the least of your worries.”

“W-Why are you telling me all this?” she stammered, fighting her urge to move to his side. 

“Are you deaf?” he growled and all that nasty compassion she had been feeling was suddenly knocked down a peg. “I’m not a pawn! Not yours, not the First’s. I will not be played.”

“So you’re coming to me? To help you get–revenge?” she summed up incredulously. 

“Well I’m not here to kiss and make up,” Angel sneered. “You want to destroy the First; you’ll need all the help you can get. It’s your lucky day, I’m feeling generous.”

“You mean vengeful,” Buffy countered with a raised brow.

“Whatever,” he dismissed her with a halfhearted wave of his hand. Taking a smooth step forward, slowly closing in on her, he noticed her hand twitch on the stake she held in a death grip. “You need me,” Angel murmured, voice soft, low…tempting. “We can fight side by side again…you want that, don’t you? To be with me again.” His movements were purposely slow as his hand reached for her own, gently caressing her soft skin. He could see her grip on the weapon in her palm slacken and he moved in a little closer. 

Buffy wanted nothing more than to close her eyes and savor the feeling of Angel, nearly pressed up against her, so close and yet so far away. But closing her eyes in the presence of a soulless demon was akin to a death wish and she was not that far gone.

She could see the barest hints of a smug smirk tugging at the edge of his lips and it pushed her over the edge. Without any warning she swung, her balled fist hitting him squarely in the face and wiping that pleased grin off his mouth as he sailed a few feet across the room, landing with a loud thud on her bedroom floor.

“That a no?” he chuckled darkly as he brought a hand to his mouth and seeing fresh traces of his blood on his fingertips.

Raising her stake threateningly, she took a daring step forward only to be distracted abruptly by the shrill ringing of her phone. Her gaze darted to the offending object before returning hastily to the prostrate vampire, her stomach sinking when he was no longer at her feet. 

Looking around franticly, she could see no sign of him. She ran out of her still open bedroom door in time to hear the front door close. The adrenaline rush that had hit her moments before had finally peaked and she was feeling its effects. Her heart was still pounding wildly and she was beginning to get a headache, the muscles in her body sore and strained.

Distantly she recognized the sound of the phone still ringing and she numbly retraced her steps into her room, reaching for the receiver beside her bed. 

“Hello?” her voice sounded foreign to her, soft, tired and far too old. “Giles?” 

 

~~~~~~~~~~~

 

“You sure you won’t get in trouble for sneaking out of the house, pet?” 

“I didn’t sneak,” Willow retorted with a defensive glare at Spike. “I told Xander we were leaving.”

“You left a note,” the blond smirked, hands deep in the pockets of his duster as they strolled along the nearly deserted streets of Sunnydale. 

“I just didn’t want to fight with him,” she sighed. “He wouldn’t exactly be thrilled at the idea of you and me going for a stroll. He doesn’t really trust you.”

“He shouldn’t. I’m the Big Bad,” he declared proudly.

“Of course you are,” Willow murmured, soothing his occasionally surprisingly fragile ego. “It’s just that things are finally good with Xander again. I don’t want to get in a stupid fight with him over nothing. Not that you’re nothing,” she added when he looked annoyed. “But we’re in a good place. I don’t want to ruin it.” 

“You’re breaking my unbeating heart,” Spike groaned, making a disgusted face. 

“Look, as much as I would love to continue with the witty banter portion of the evening, there really isn’t time for it. This whole thing,” she sighed, waving her hands about, “with the First, it has to end and soon. And we–I need your help. Xander doesn’t like it, Buffy and Giles don’t even know it, but we can’t do this without you.”

“What are you thinking, pet?” he asked softly, reluctantly moved by her declaration. He had always been a sucker for being needed, whether she knew it or not. 

“The First isn’t up to full strength,” Willow shrugged as they wandered into Restfield Cemetery, keeping eyes and ears open for any unwelcome visitors. “At least I don’t think it is. I think that our best bet might be to, you know, cut it off at the pass. Stop it from getting stronger.”

“How do you plan on going about that, love?” he wondered, raising a curious brow. “The sodding thing isn’t corporeal. Going to give it a nice tongue lashing?”

“Funny,” she replied dryly. “The First is evil to the max, but it is following a pattern. Last time there were more of us and it lost, this time with fewer numbers on our side, it thinks it has a shot at winning. Everything so far has been preparation. When the First releases the Turok-Hans, that’s when it really gets started. So...” Willow drawled, pensively biting her bottom lip, “we stop that from happening.”

Spike’s face was blank, no real hint of comprehension in his expression, and Willow slowed her pace, turning to face him.

“In the basement of Sunnydale High there’s this thing, the Seal of Danthalzar,” she tried to explain as simply as she could. “The First used it to bring the Turok-Hans here. If we can find a way to destroy it, or maybe permanently close it, well…I don’t think that will completely stop the First, but at least we’ve taken their big guns out the equation.”

“So we need to seal the seal,” Spike repeated awkwardly, coming to complete stop amongst the headstones and giving all his attention to the young witch.

“That’s the thing,” she huffed in utter frustration. “I mean, can you even seal a seal? Isn’t it, by definition, sealed?”

“So we destroy the bugger,” he argued, the strength of his voice not giving away any of his doubts.

“And if it is magically protected?” she countered.

“Bloody hell,” he ground out, eyes flashing, “do you have to play devil’s advocate? You do your research book thing and if nothing works then I’ll do what I do best and make with the mayhem. If both of those don’t work we’ll start over. You at least gotta try first.”

“Well that was almost…encouraging,” Willow grinned as Spike rolled his eyes and let out a low, disgruntled growl. 

“You’re going to ruin my reputation, you know that?” he grumbled. “Encouraging…bloody witch,” he snarled. 

“Okay,” she interrupted his annoyed musings with an amused smile, “ruined reputations aside, we have a plan. An incomplete, slightly reckless, most likely crazy plan; but a plan nonetheless.”

“Right,” Spike nodded sharply. “So, you know, chin up and all that rot.”

Willow’s light laughter was cut short by the sound of a deep, menacing growl and two pairs of eyes darted up to see what made the sound.

Looking feral and absolutely deadly, its grey and veined skin stretched tautly over bone and muscle and thin lips curled back in a fierce snarl, fangs at the fore, the seemingly prehistoric vampire regarded them with a mindless vicious glare.

“Oh god” and “Bloody hell” muttered simultaneously, they regarded the predator in front of them, wholly unprepared for this. Willow jumped slightly when she felt a tight grip on her arm. Looking up into the unusually frightened eyes of Spike and feeling a minute measure of relief when she felt him squeeze her arm. 

The standoff wouldn’t last long and Spike could feel Willow shaking under his tight grip. He wasn’t sure what the hell that thing was but he wasn’t in the mood to find out. His human façade had long since disappeared and he and the intruder stared threateningly at one another, a deep warning growl coming from Spike. It was met with an angry snarl. Willow’s balance, already precarious, faltered and she took an almost imperceptible step backwards.

But it was enough to end the stalemate as the Turok-Han lurched forward and a terrified scream tore through the night.


End file.
